Amaranth
by Nemi Nightingale
Summary: Sequel to Formula.   The Cataclysm is upon Azeroth, and Dorissa and Zaladin are sent their seperate ways in service of the Alliance and the Horde. When Dorissa's vessel sinks Zaladin rushes to her aid, but is instead given disturbing insight in his past.
1. Immaculate

**Immaculate  
><strong>

"I feel cold, Mrs Hale," the little girl whispered hoarsely, the sweat beads on her pale forehead glinting in the light of the candles.

"I know, dear. But you'll feel better soon, I promise. I'll make you a cup of tea, alright?"  
>The girl gave her a weak nod and closed her eyes.<p>

Belfrida Hale got up from her position near the bed and made her way into the kitchen where she began preparing the expensive tea leaves her husband had brought her from Dalaran.

The girl, Pamela, was not her first patient to show no reaction to her treatment. She had tried everything: cleansing herbs, potions, even her most powerful healing abilities had had no effect on the seven year old's mysterious illness.

The sickness was, however, not the only sign the priestess had observed spreading with increasing haste through Gilneas. People had slowly but surely started disappearing. She had not seen Andersen's wife for a week now, and Andersen himself seemed paranoid, and he kept in the shadows, not venturing outside unless he had to.

The neighbours were whispering in the streets. Some of them claimed to have sighted creatures lurking in the darkness, and the city guards were on alert. The people of Gilneas were in danger, Belfrida knew it, and she felt it her duty to somehow prevent what was coming, but she could not see how. She had done everything she could to draw attention to the changes in their society at the last council, but no one knew more than she, therefore it had quickly been dismissed as a passing oddity. But the sickness was there, it could not be ignored. As of late, Belfrida had been watching the townsfolk more and more every day, and behind the paranoia and the disappearances she had made disturbing discoveries. She had caught one of the butcher's young boys tearing apart a raw caribou flank with his teeth, the blood running down his arms and dripping from his elbows. He had made a strange, beast-like noise when he had seen her, and before she could ask him what he was doing he had jumped a fence and was out of sight within seconds.

Two days later she had passed a young woman by the river who was frantically shaving her upper lip with what appeared to be her husband's "borrowed" barber kit. This would perhaps have made Belfrida chuckle gleefully, but the woman's shaking hands and the sheer panic in her eyes had convinced her it was not the time for giggles.

With a sigh, Belfrida poured the finished tea into an extravagant porcelain cup and returned to her patient's bedside. Pamela looked up at her with feverish eyes as the priestess carefully handed her the steaming cup.

"The meeting will be over in less than an hour. Your father will come to collect you soon," Belfrida said, helping the little girl hold the tea.

"But you haven't cured me," Pamela mumbled between small sips to avoid burning her tongue.

"Not yet," Belfrida said with a smile as reassuring as she could master. She placed the cup on a small table near the bed and softly stroked a strand of Pamela's thin, straw-coloured hair away from her face.

What happened next, Belfrida would not soon forget. For something changed in the little girl when she caught the scent of the priestess' smooth, dark skin. An explosion of red filled her eyes, her nostrils flared and a pained, dog-like whimper escaped her dry lips as her head snapped to the right and she sank her tiny white teeth into Belfrida's wrist. The puncture wounds immediately started dripping red.

Pamela gasped, her eyes widened and she pushed herself up against the wall, her small fingers clenching the bed quilt.

Belfrida uttered a series of curses and rushed to the kitchen sink where she pressed out as much blood as she could before she started rinsing the wound and channeled her healing powers into her skin. She was not surprised when she found that in spite of her efforts, her skin refused to close. _Splendid, absolutely splendid. Damn that snotty little brat,_she thought angrily as she bandaged her wrist carefully and forced herself to wear a small smile as she re-entered the patient's room.

"I'm s-so sorry," Pamela stuttered, appearing utterly confused and appalled by the taste of blood on her lips.

Belfrida handed her a napkin, careful not to get too close to the child again. "You meant no harm. It was not your fault, dear."

"What's happening to me?"the girl asked, her lower lip trembling as her eyes filled with tears.  
>"I don't know," the priestess said, her eyes fixed on the little bloodstains that were slowly forming on the white bandage.<p>

* * *

><p>Dorissa rested her forearms on the window pane and glanced up at the clouds blocking the view of the summer sky. They were dark with heavy rain, and it looked as if the water could spill at any moment. <em>Not the ideal weather conditions,<em> she thought to herself. _If Jillian's hair is in any way in danger of being ruined…  
><em>  
>Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted when the door behind her opened and a rather flustered Jillian entered closely followed by Luridel and Eridess who had been working on the human's hair and makeup for two hours straight. The two of them had done a remarkable job; the dark shades under Jillian's eyes had miraculously vanished despite the fact that she had only had a maximum four hours of sleep that night.<p>

"Oh Riss, I'm so nervous. What if he changes his mind?" she asked as Dorissa crossed the room to help her dearest friend out of her bathrobe and into her dress.

"Jill, how many times do I have to tell you that you're being ridiculous and irrational by even considering that a possibility?" she replied stiffly while concentrating on buttoning the back of Jillian's dress.

"At least once more," the human mumbled, seemingly lost in thoughts of utterly apocalyptic nature.  
>Dorissa placed her hands on Jillian's shoulders and turned the black-haired woman to face her.<p>

"Jillian Lee Jones," she said formally, "you are being ridiculous and irrational. He loves you," she finished with a reassuring smile, her well-trained reflexes quickly catching the tear that was threatening to spill and smear her friend's makeup. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"You really think so?" Jillian asked, her brown doe eyes shining with gratitude.

"That I do." It was true. The young warlock was stunning in her light, crème dress. It was perfect on her; not so subtle that the guests would draw attention from her, and not so resplendent that the dress itself drew attention from Jillian's lovely, heart shaped face. The simple golden tiara was perfectly settled in her up-do, and the thin veil that hung from it was carefully slung across her high bun.

Dorissa gently lifted it down to cover the woman's face. "You're ready," she said, smiling softly while drawing her friend in for a light hug.

"Yes. Yes, I am!" Jillian flashed a brilliant smile and reached for the bouquet Eridess held out towards her. "Is Zaladin here?" she then asked, slight worry showing in her eyes.

"Of course he is. He wouldn't miss your wedding at any cost, Jill," Dorissa said with a crooked smile.  
>"But have you actually seen him yet? Is he safe? I wouldn't be able to live with myself if the guards caught him!"<p>

"Relax, Jill. No, I haven't seen him. But I can tell you that he is safe. The guards wouldn't have noticed him if he waded right into the Stormwind Keep and butchered the king."

"Don't say such things, you never know who might be listening," Jillian giggled. She then switched back into a state of slight panic. "Is my breath alright?" she asked and blew the half-elf in the face.  
>Dorissa rolled her eyes. "It's fine, Jill."<p>

"Fine? What do you mean by 'fine'?"

"By 'fine' I of course mean that no scent in the whole of Azeroth exceeds the minty freshness that is your breath. I'm awfully sorry I didn't make it that clear to begin with. Now, you stay here while I fetch your brother before you fiancé thinks you've chickened out on him."

As Dorissa stepped out of the Stormwind Cathedral the sun broke through the clouds in warm beams, lighting up the scenic setting behind the cathedral where the guests were getting seated on the low stone benches in front of the marital pavilion. "Thank heavens," she muttered under her breath as she quickly passed the benches on her way to the pavilion where Hunter, Jillian's brother, was talking to a very excited Nathaldor.

"Ah, there she is!" Hunter said with a huge smile. "You look lovely, Riss, absolutely lovely. Blue suits you," he added, gesturing to her flowing sapphire dress. "May I ask if the seat next to yours at the party is reserved?"

"Watch it, Hunter," Dorissa said with a smile and a cocked eyebrow. "He's here, you know."

"Yes, so Nathaldor tells me, but I won't believe you until I see him with my own eyes. I'm starting to think this mate of yours is just an excuse to get rid of me," he said, his lips forming a confident, crooked smile.

"You will wish it were once you have met him," Nathaldor said with a grin. He then turned to Dorissa. "Is she ready?" he asked, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Aye, she is. Are you?"

"I can honestly say that I have never been more ready for anything in my entire life."

"Those are strong words considering you're four hundred and seventy-eight years old."

Hunter's eye twitched at her words, and he let out a small, nervous laugh. "My sister's marrying an old man, you say?"

"Not at all. He's actually around thirty-two in human years." Dorissa laughed as Hunter's face merged into utter confusion. "Hey," she said, nudging him on the shoulder. "It doesn't matter how old he is. He's the man your sister's marrying, and they're a perfect match."

Hunter's features relaxed as he smiled at her. "That they are. Are you absolutely positive you're taken, dear?" he said, winking at her. "God knows I'd be on my knees for you if you weren't."

Dorissa rolled her eyes and smiled. "You never learn, do you?"

"Of course not, milady. Now, will you take me to my little sister before she faints and falls into the canals?"

"Yes, let's go. Tell the twins to start the music in five, will you?" she said, adding the last bit to Nathaldor.

"I shall," he replied and headed off to find Ameltha and Elathem who had been assigned the task of gathering a string quartet for the event.

"What took you so long?" Jillian asked with a frown.

"She's been on the verge of a nervous breakdown ever since you left," Eridess explained.

Dorissa sighed. "I was gone for less than ten minutes, Jill. The ceremony is starting in five."

"Remember to breathe, sis," Hunter said, lightly kissing his sister on the forehead. "Is everything alright?"

Jillian took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm fine." She looked up at her older brother and shrugged. "I wish dad could've been here."

"I know. So do I. But at least our dear mother showed up."

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry at that news," Jillian muttered.

"Don't worry. She'll keep her mouth shut. I'll make sure she does."

Jillian managed a small smile. "You look nice in a suit," she then said. "You should dress up more often."

Hunter chuckled and brushed his black tousled hair out of his brown eyes. "I'm afraid my craft doesn't really allow it. Or perhaps there's a new group of suited up blacksmiths in town I haven't yet acquainted?"

"Tch, you know what I mean."

The soft sound of violins started drifting through the air, and Hunter took Jillian by the arm. "Ready to stun the crowd?"

She grinned at him. "Ready."

Dorissa, Eridess and Luridel wished the warlock good luck and hurried to their seats. The three females had officially been appointed the human's bridesmaids, but the aisle was neither long nor wide enough for five people, so Jillian had reluctantly decided they were allowed seats during the ceremony.

Looking for an available bench, Dorissa realised with slight regret that the only space that was not taken was on the front row next to Jillian's mother.

Annie Jones had probably been a much kinder person before she was widowed nine years ago, but that was a side to her Dorissa had rarely experienced. Having only met Jillian's mother at seldom occasions which Jillian had begged her friend to attend, Dorissa had already gotten the impression that Annie Jones would never be listed among her closer friends. The problem was that Annie Jones was completely smitten by Dorissa and would seemingly gladly have adopted her and forgotten all about her own daughter.

"Dorissa Nightsky, how lovely to see you again, darling!" Annie Jones proclaimed theatrically, caring little for keeping her gravelly voice down.

"Hello Mrs Jones," Dorissa said with a forced smile, deciding it was a lost cause to correct the woman's use of her old name.

"How've you been? Why, it's been so long since I last saw you! What have you been spending your time with recently?"

_The usual. Saving the world as you know it and all. Not that you give a rat's arse._"Nothing special. I've just been helping out with the wedding preparations."

"That's nice, dear," Mrs Jones said, somehow instantly managing to make Dorissa feel like a little girl even though she was almost six times the woman's age. "Can you believe she's actually doing this?" she then asked, tossing her wavy, strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder with a small snort.

"Yes. Yes, I can."

Seemingly listening to the answer this time, Mrs Jones turned her head towards Dorissa and raised her lined brows. "You're not against this at all?"

"Why would I be?"

"Why sweetheart, they're not of the same race. It's not natural! And besides, her _husband_," she said, rolling her eyes at the word, "will outlive her with hundreds of years. She'll grow old and hate herself every time she looks at his young face."

"The future does not matter much to your daughter, Mrs Jones. She lives in the moment, and this is what makes her happy. And humans who are close to elves tend to have a longer lifespan than ones who don't, for that matter. They'll have many wonderful years together."

The music faded and a new song started, signaling the coming of the bride. Everyone turned their heads, and several gasps and longing sighs were heard as the beautiful young warlock turned the corner of the cathedral and was led down the aisle by the arm of her handsome brother. Dorissa glanced up at the pavilion and was filled with warmth when she caught Nathaldor's eyes tearing up at the sight of his soon to-be wife. As the dark clouds moved in again she breathed in the smell of impending rain, and a slight hint of a familiar, sweet scent found its way to her sharp senses. She discretely turned her head to the right and scanned the surrounding gardens.

She had to concentrate hard, but she managed to catch a glimpse of his cold, blue gaze. He was watching her, she could feel it. There mere knowledge made her skin tingle.

Two years had passed since she had made Zaladin Grimtusk's acquaintance under the ghostly light of the Undercity chandeliers, and the death knight still had the same effect on her. She sent him a challenging smile, and she could've sworn she saw him flash a bestial grin, but the moment after he had disappeared into the shadows once more.

Dorissa turned her head back towards the bridal couple who were now standing opposite each other as Ildoren performed the formalities in place of the vicar who had refused to join two different races in holy matrimony.

Jillian had been far from torn upon hearing this. To her marriage was not a sanctified thing, she had explained to Dorissa on their way back to Moonglen Village after having been turned down by the reverend. She simply saw it as a way to show a commitment between two people, and she had actually been relieved when she was given the chance to ask Ildoren to change the words to not include any reference to a divinity whatsoever.

As for Nathaldor, Dorissa had asked him if he had known of Jillian's view on the concept of marriage when he had proposed to her. "I did not," he had said, "but I was delighted to find I did not have to answer to a god I hold no belief in."

"But you would have done it knowing it was just another race's version of everything you broke away from?" she had asked.

"I would," he had answered firmly.

This was one of many solid proofs of his love for Jillian, and had Dorissa questioned his sincerity at any point all her doubts would have instantly vanished from that moment on.

Briefly looking away from the couple, her eye was caught by Hunter's, and he winked discretely at her. She smirked at him and shook her head lightly. She had met him for the first time a year and a half earlier, a handsome, strong man whose mother had wanted him to live up to his all too limiting name. Hunter, however, had never had any interest in this, and to his mother's deep regret he had chosen the path of the blacksmith. She remembered laughing at his strikingly good imitation of a horrified Annie Jones who had almost shouted at him: "But Hunter, I thought you wanted to be like your father? You silly boy, do you not want his memory to live on in you?"

"What in the world did you tell her?" Dorissa had asked with a raised eyebrow and a light laugh. She had expected teenage Hunter to have suggested his theatrical mother to shove her ideas up where the sunlight never came, but his answer had surprised and impressed her when he said: "I told her that if she could not see how very like my father I was by making that decision she had never really known her husband at all. I didn't exactly go for first place in the popularity contest that day."

His carefree, yet extremely strong and mature personality had won her heart just like Jillian's, and he and Dorissa had instantly clicked as soon as they spoke, but she could not completely grasp if he was simply joking about his crush on her or if he was in fact telling the truth. _Probably a bit of both,_she decided, studying his kind face with a nearly invisible frown.

"So, Dorissa, is there a man in your life these days?" Mrs Jones asked, efficiently interrupting the half-elf's train of thought.

"Yes," Dorissa said absently, momentarily forgetting the consequences of answering the woman.

"Well, spill the beans, dear, who is he?"

"He's…" she started, but a thought occurred to her, and she flashed the woman a brilliant smile.  
>"He's coming here, so you'll meet him later today."<p>

"Oh, fancy that. I can imagine he's a tall and handsome elf?" Annie Jones said chattily.

"He's tall and handsome," Dorissa agreed, subtly avoiding a specification of Zaladin's race.

Mrs Jones rummaged through her silken purse, seemingly once again having lost interest in the conversation she had so eagerly started. "That sounds lovely, darling."

_You'll see exactly how lovely that is_, Dorissa thought with a dark smile.

* * *

><p>"You may now kiss the bride," Ildoren said with a soft smile, and as the rain began to fall quietly from the heavens, a single beam of afternoon sunlight broke through the heavy clouds and lit up the faces of the happy couple as Nathaldor lifted Jillian's veil from her face and pulled the human in for their first kiss as husband and wife.<p>

The guests cheered and applauded the newlyweds, and all as one they got up to congratulate the happy couple.

"Look at you, all grown up," Hunter said as he hugged his younger sister with a great smile.

"You better hurry if you want to catch up with me," Jillian said teary-eyed and with a light laugh. The human turned to Dorissa who was waiting for her friend to be available for the next of many following embraces.

"I'm so happy for you, Jill," she said, wrapping her arms around the human. "You look beautiful together."

"Thank you," Jillian managed, sniffling. "Have you seen him?" she whispered in Dorissa's ear.

"I have. He was here throughout the whole ceremony."

"I sure hope he's alright."

"Jill, come on. It's Zaladin," Dorissa said with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow as she released her friend.

"I suppose I'm underestimating him a bit," Jillian giggled.

"Congratulations, sweetie," a hoarse voice said behind Dorissa. Annie Jones seemed to have decided upon putting aside her prejudices for now, and she quickly stepped closer to pull her daughter in for a stiff embrace.

"Uh, thanks mum," the warlock managed, seemingly rather uncomfortable in her mother's arms.

"And you must be..?" Mrs Jones said hesitantly with narrowing eyes as she reached out to shake the hand of her daughter's husband.

"I've told you a millio-" Jillian started, but Nathaldor gave her a gentle squeeze and smiled brilliantly.  
>"Nathaldor," the raven-haired elf said and took her mother's hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Annie. I have heard many things of you."<p>

"Hmm," the older woman said, seemingly uncertain of the nature of those 'things' and what she thought of the fact that Nathaldor had used her first name. "You take good care of my Jillian now," she finally said and stepped aside to engage in conversation with a rather reluctant Hunter.

Dorissa snickered. "I think you just saved the day," she said, and Nathaldor snorted.

"I have been informed of the nature of my mother-in-law quite frequently as of late," he said and sent his wife a crooked smile. "I believe I can handle her, though."

"It certainly looks like it," Jillian said, looking quite relieved that she had not been forced into another argument with her stubborn mother. "But don't let your guard down; she'll have lots and lots of hours to make a comeback."

"She can try. There is absolutely nothing that can ruin my mood today," Nathaldor said and cupped the woman's face to let a passionate kiss soften the skeptical draw around her rosy lips.

* * *

><p>Ha-HA! I bet you all thought I had died. I know I did.<br>I did not lie when I wrote in my last Author's Note that I doubted I would be able to compose another story about my beloved druid and her death knight. I was trying much too hard at the time, and everything became forced and half-hearted, so I decided to put it on halt to avoid disappointing myself and all of you.  
>But when the Cataclysm struck my plot bunny was resurrected and began hopping like a madman, and now I am back in business, my dearies!<br>I just cannot wait to hear what you all think. So grasp your virtual pens and grant me the gift of your reviews and I shall purr like a happy kittycat.

- Nemi


	2. Halves

**Halves  
><strong>

She heard the door slamming shut in the kitchen, and her head snapped up. She had been drowsing by Pamela's bed for an hour. She glanced at the sleeping girl. Her pale face shone in the candlelight, a tiny bead of sweat visible at her right temple.

Belfrida heard footsteps in the hallway outside, and she quickly got up and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. She nearly slammed headfirst into Hubert's chest when she turned around. Her husband let out a short laugh of surprise before kissing her dark, chocolate lips quickly and running his firm hands down her waist.

"How was your day, darling?" he asked, ridding himself of his top hat and velvet cloak. "The prince asked for you at the meeting. We could have used your advice." He sounded as tired as she felt.

Belfrida nodded and pointed towards the patient's room. "I cannot for the life of me figure out what is wrong with that girl," she said, hiding her bandaged wrist behind her back.

"Well," Hubert said, resting his polished walking cane in the umbrella stand. "I can tell you exactly why you can't cure her."

Belfrida looked at him with a cocked brow. "Go on?"

He continued into their living room and sat himself by the fireplace with an exhausted sigh. "We're not dealing with a disease. It's a curse."

"A curse?" Belfrida's brow furrowed as she placed herself in front of him, making sure to pull her velvet sleeve down to hide her bandage. The bleeding had stopped, but there were still clear brownish red stains on the white linen.

"Yes. A curse transmitted when bitten by one of the infected. And our fear has been confirmed; we're dealing with worgen."

Belfrida nodded, trying her best to hide her panic. "What was decided that we are to do with the victims?"

"Until a cure is found…" Hubert sighed. "We have no choice but to exterminate the ones who carry the curse. We start tomorrow. You are ordered to come with me when we begin. You are to protect and heal our troops."

"Alright," the priestess said absently. She bit her lip. "What about the girl?" she then asked, tossing her head in the direction of the patient's room.

"When is her father coming?"

"He should be arriving shortly. Was he not at the meeting with you?" Belfrida asked, her eyes narrowing.

Hubert nodded, looking at her with troubled eyes. He knew what she was thinking. "Do you really think he would abandon his own daughter?"

_If she were mine I'd run away as fast as I could._ "Yes. Yes, I do. But perhaps we should leave him the benefit of doubt for another hour. If he doesn't come… Well, I suppose we know what to do."

Her husband studied her face for a while. "I don't think I can bring myself to do something like that. She's only a child."

"I can."

Hubert got up and put a finger under her chin to turn her hard face towards his. "Sometimes I wonder if I could actually have married someone colder than you, Belfrida Hale."

The priestess sent him a forced smile and left him to return to the kitchen where she began preparing supper. 

* * *

><p>The reception was held at Mrs Jones' place, a spacious, lovely house near the Stormwind City Mage Quarter. Jillian had somehow succeeded in persuading her mother to let them come to her house since none of the houses the Sapphire Darkling owned were located in the Eastern Kingdoms. But even though she had oh so generously agreed to her daughter's request, the widow was not in any sense happy with the arrangements.<p>

"Are you sure those nature people can control themselves? I've heard so many strange stories of elven parties," Annie Jones hissed in Dorissa's ear, seemingly forgetting that she was talking to an elf.

The sun was setting, the soft night slowly covering the sky in a velvet blanket of shining stars as the guests entered the house. But the horizon was oddly tinted, a certain shade of unnatural scarlet that caught Dorissa's eye. _Probably nothing.  
><em>  
>She cocked a brow at the woman.<p>

"Oh, sorry dear, but you're different," Mrs Jones said with a smile that looked more befitting of a mountain lion than an actual human being.

"So are they. They'll keep your polished floors nice and clean, I promise." _Can't say about Zaladin if you keep up that attitude, though, _Dorissa added in her head, smiling grimly.

What used to be the living room had been transformed into a large, beautifully decorated dining space with a buffet table at the far end. Ameltha and Elathem had somehow even managed to clear enough space for the string quartet to play in the opposite end, and there was room for dancing just in front of them.

All three courses were delicious, the company was lovely and the atmosphere relaxed, but as the hours passed Dorissa could not help but begin to worry. She had neither heard nor seen a single sign of Zaladin's approach. She knew he was more than capable of avoiding being detected, but what if something had gone wrong? He could have been forced to retreat, or worse, he could have been caught. It was not knowing that had her clenching her fingers a little too hard around Mrs Jones' expensive silverware.

_It can't hurt to check._

"Where are you going, Riss?" Jillian asked as Dorissa got up from her chair.

"I'll be just outside," she said, giving the human an eloquent look.

She did not get far as she turned to find herself facing Hunter who had been at the buffet to stock up on wedding cake for the second time. "Where are you going?" he asked with an adorable smile, setting his plate down on the table before looking at her again.

Dorissa pulled her long, silvery white hair away from back, twisting it nervously between her fingers. "Outside. It's… warm in here," she told him, her eyes focused somewhere in the nothingness above his left shoulder. When he did not answer, she blinked and looked up at his face questioningly to find his gaze seemingly locked on something on her back.

"How did you get that? Is it… a scar?" he pondered, gesturing towards what had caught his attention.

Dorissa looked at him in confusion for a second. She then realised she had exposed most of her pale back upon pulling her hair away from the deep-cut back of her sapphire gown, and nestled just below her shoulder blades were the thin shimmering lines of an odd eight-point star caused by the runic energy that Chillmaw's icy breath had pumped into her skin two years ago. The mark was not easily spotted, but the candles in the windowpane behind her seemed to have reflected their light off of the shining skin.

"Several scars, actually. The shape is purely coincidental, though," she said, smiling at him.

Hunter's brow furrowed slightly. "Well, how did you get it?" he repeated.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Dorissa said with a giggle.

"Try me?"

She grinned. "Alright; I battled an army of ghouls, death knights, all sorts of other abominations and the reanimated wyrm Chillmaw alongside the death knight Zaladin Grimtusk in Icecrown. I wasn't quick enough when Chillmaw's icy breath was upon us, and some of the icicles glanced off the frozen ground and pierced my skin. Like the wyrm, the icicles were empowered by runes, and their energy etched lines between the puncture wounds in my back. When I had the icicles pulled out it was too late to remove the marks," she finished, laughing at Hunter's skeptical expression.

"Zaladin Grimtusk… Does that ring a bell? Where have I heard that name before?" he asked with a slight frown.

"Probably on a wanted poster."

"You're right; I don't believe you," he said, smirking. "I think it's a vanity thing. Did Jill not mention that your name used to be Nightsky? Because that does fit rather well with this little mark of yours," he decided with a slightly too triumphant smile. "May I?"

She would probably have asked him not to, but before she could speak the words, Hunter had reached out to let his fingers trail lightly across the shimmering lines on Dorissa's back. "It's cooler than the rest of you," he said, gently letting two of his fingers rest on the unscarred skin just beneath the mark. He looked up and met her eyes with a soft smile. Dorissa's lips parted slightly, but before she could form a stuttering answer, a familiar, double-layered voice echoed through the room, leaving a trail of ice in its path.

"It is a fool's errand, what you are doing. For you see, if your fingers slip as much as a quarter of an inch further south, you are at great risk of crawling around on the floorboards in a pool of blood and agony, desperately searching for that adventurous hand of yours approximately four seconds from now. Do I make myself understandable, or would you perhaps prefer a simple demonstration?"

Hunter's eyes widened, and his face turned pale. The entire room had gone awfully quiet, and he and Dorissa turned their heads towards the door.

A tall figure stood in the darkness by the door, leaning against the frame. His blue, glowing eyes were cold with murderous intent as he eyed the black-haired man and absently let a pale, white finger slide along his enormous left tusk.

"Lord Zaladin Grimtusk. Welcome, my old friend." Nathaldor broke the silence with a smirk and raised his glass. "We are all very pleased you could make it, but we would appreciate if you would restrain yourself from butchering any of our guests tonight."

"I promise nothing," the death knight responded indifferently. He then stepped out into the light and placed himself besides Dorissa, his large frame towering above the seemingly flabbergasted Hunter.  
><em>"Bear with the boy, Zaladin. He is young and kind, but too naïve to know when a battle is lost,"<em> she said quietly, switching to the Zandali the troll had taught her, not wanting Hunter to hear what she had to say to save him.

But as if she had spoken in the common tongue, Hunter slowly lowered his hand, cleared his throat and looked the white-haired troll directly in the eyes. "I apologise. I meant no harm, and I did not know Dorissa was spoken for," he said earnestly.

Zaladin slowly raised a hairless brow. "It seems rather unthinkable to me that she failed to mention this," he said, his cold voice dripping sarcasm.

Hunter let out a nervous laugh and scratched the back of his neck, seemingly slightly embarrassed. "Well, she did, actually. I simply convinced myself she was making up excuses for being unavailable."

"Did you now…"

"Nevertheless, I have no intention of coming on to her again. What do you say to forgetting about my mistake and starting over? My name is Hunter Lee Jones. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Grimtusk." Hunter boldly reached out the hand Zaladin had threatened to separate from his wrist, waiting for the death knight's response.

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath as Zaladin coolly eyed the human in front of him. He then grasped Hunter's hand and gave it a single, firm shake.

A relieved noise was heard as Jillian got up from her seat. "Can I hug you now?" she asked with a brilliant smile, her eyes shining with joy at the arrival of her best friend's life-mate.

Zaladin snorted once and then reached out to pull the small woman into his strong arms for a quick embrace. "My congratulations to the happy couple," he said, the shadow of a crooked smile playing in the corner of his mouth. "I have something for you." He then retrieved a small black box from an inside pocket of his dark grey jacket and handed it to Jillian.

"Oh, no, you shouldn't have!" she said, her eyes widening in surprise. She opened the box and gasped at the sight of a pair of huge, faceted diamond earrings sparkling in the candlelit room. "How di-… Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" she squealed and flung her arms around his cold, hard neck with a joyful laugh, succeeding in making the coldhearted troll smile sincerely.

"We saved you a seat," Jillian said as she straightened her dress after Zaladin had gently put her down. She gestured towards the empty chair on the left side of Dorissa's.

"I did wonder about that," Dorissa heard Hunter say quietly with a light laugh as Zaladin sat down across from a shaken Annie Jones who had been stuttering quiet prayers into her necklace, which she was currently clutching between her sinewy fingers.

"Did you have much trouble on your journey here?" Dorissa asked, ignoring the jumpy woman on the other side of the table.

Zaladin, on the other hand, focused his narrowing eyes on Jillian's mother as he answered his partner in a low voice: "Goblins are surprisingly easy to bribe," he said, "even when it comes to transporting a singular member of the Horde into the heart of an Alliance capital. And the lonesome guard will wake in the alley outside in a few hours with no memory of why he suddenly decided to take a nap leaning against the rather damp and cold brick wall," he added casually.

Dorissa hid a smirk and nodded once.

Zaladin's eyes had still not left Mrs Jones, and Dorissa now noticed he was not looking at her, but at the pendant that hung from the thin golden chain she carried around her neck.

The death knight leaned closer to the strawberry-blonde and rested his chin on the back of his hand. "That symbol… If I am not mistaken, and I rarely am, it is the mark of a bishop of the Scarlet Crusade," he stated.

Annie Jones straightened up and looked the troll in the eye. "It belonged to my grandfather," she said defiantly. "Do you have anything against that or the Crusade, for that matter?"

Zaladin cocked an eyebrow, contemplating his next phrase. "I have no personal issues with the Scarlet Crusade," he finally said.

"For what reasons do you ask then?" Annie said, her tone returning to its usual unpleasantness.

"Your jewellery simply reminded me of the time I led the last blow against the Scarlet Enclave in the Eastern Plaguelands. The last time I saw a similar symbol was on a bishop's hat I used to wipe my bloodied sword on after having separated its owner's head from his shoulders."

Inhaling most of her champagne in an uncontrolled snicker, Dorissa started coughing and thumping herself in the chest with her fist in an attempt to keep herself from choking on the sparking liquid.  
>"Excuse me," she managed between coughs and giggles, and before the shocked and extremely offended Annie Jones had regained her composure, Dorissa pulled out her chair and silently hurried out the door.<p>

The cool night air felt like a lover's caress on her red cheeks as she stepped out of the warm, crowded room and into the street by the canals. The heavy summer rain had stopped falling a while ago, but the flagstones beneath Dorissa's high heels were still treacherously slippery from the remnants of the downpour, and she had to step carefully to avoid slipping or falling in a deep puddle.

Having crossed the street fairly smoothly, she settled against an old unlit lamppost near the canals. The velvet night sky stretched above her, reflecting beautifully on the dark surface of the water, and the moonlight settled like a diadem on her silvery white hair, emphasizing its ghostly glow.

But beneath the loveliness of it all, Dorissa noticed that the odd colour of the horizon had become stronger. There was an ominous red edge to the sky, an almost smouldering light that captured her gaze and made her brow furrow. It seemed an ill omen. And whatever it was, it was headed for Stormwind with visible speed and what looked a little like the strokes of enormous wings.

"It suits you."

Startled, Dorissa gasped, and she felt her pulse accelerate within her veins. "What does?" she whispered, having completely forgotten about the colour of the horizon and what it might mean.

"The night." His cold breath hit the back of her neck, sending light shivers down her spine. "And that dress." She felt his strong fingers softly brushing her hair away from her back, thereby exposing her pale skin.

"Your reactions continue to amuse me," he continued cockily while casually steadying her with and arm around her waist after watching her knees threaten to give away beneath her.

"Do they now," Dorissa said, annoyed to find her voice far less confident than she had intended it to be. _Will I ever manage to completely be myself around him, I wonder.  
><em>  
>"Mhmm, that they do." She felt him breathe in the scent of her hair. "Have I ever mentioned to you that you have a very distinct fragrance that brings to mind the smell of wet roses after a thunderstorm?"<p>

She blinked in surprise. "No… No, you haven't."

Zaladin's grip tightened around her. "You do. Fresh and vibrant, yet dark and alluring. There is a certain spicy edge to it, too. "

"… How do you even know that smell?" Dorissa managed, her voice strained by the effort it took to not go completely limp in his arms.

"Curiosity fuels most of my actions, and from my actions I harvest my knowledge," he said, a playful grin in his voice. "Some actions, however…"

Dorissa was slightly disappointed to find him removing his arm from her waist. The next moment she sucked in a surprised breath of air as the death knight placed a shining silver chain around her soft neck and gently pulled her hair out of the way. "… Are fuelled by entirely different emotions," he finished.

Dorissa's fingers slowly reached up and took hold of the heavy pendant that hung just above her cleavage. She held it out in front of her eyes, and her jaw instantly dropped at the sight of an almost heart-shaped, silver-framed sapphire the size of a large sparrow's egg glinting in the pale light of the now full moon.

"Zaladin… I-… It's beautiful," she breathed, her fingers trembling as she considered the value of the item she held in her hands. "How did you… Do I even want to know how you acquired these treasures?" she asked, studying the reflection of her left eye in the glittering surface of the sapphire.  
>"It is my belief that you would rather not," he said indifferently, his fingers softly caressing her collar bones.<p>

Dorissa snorted and shook her head with a small laugh. She turned around and settled in his arms, resting her palms on his hard chest. "Thank you, my lord," she said with a playful smirk. "I must repay you somehow."

"And however do you intend to do so?" Zaladin said, his sharp features twitching slightly with withheld amusement.

"Even you have desires in need of fulfilling, as far as I'm informed," she teased, daringly pressing her slender figure closer against his cold body, ignoring the chill his nearness sent through her bones.

The troll's lips parted in a wicked chuckle. "You are aware that you are my inferior in that particular area of expertise, are you not?"

Dorissa pulled away with an offended frown. "That is entirely your own doing, seeing that you never let me be in control for long enough to-"

He cut her off with a finger on her lips and a crooked smile. "Which is, as every one of my actions, completely intentional," he said. "There are surprisingly few things in this life I enjoy more than the sight, the _feel_ of your body writhing beneath me, desperately fighting my dominance." His cold eyes were slowly darkening with hunger as they took in every bit of the half-elf before him.

"Really? Then, if I may ask, what _do_ you enjoy more?" Dorissa asked, cocking her head.

"This." He slid his tusks down the sides of her jaw and pressed his lips against hers in an icy, yet feverish kiss that instantly shot through every part of Dorissa's being.

Two months had passed since she had last shared a moment with her death knight before Zaladin headed for Icecrown for what he had been promised was the very last time. During their two years together, Dorissa had learned to live with the concern for his wellbeing. He would always write to her as often as he could between raids and questionings of scourge minions, and his letters did help her through his absence.

But the lack of physical contact with the death knight and her longing for his presence could not be helped by any means. Therefore, their first kiss after his return was always as explosive and passionate as their very first, and usually it resulted in all sorts of indecent escapades that were in no way meant for the public eye.

"We should probably have… waited," Dorissa mumbled between kisses. Her head was spinning wildly from his overwhelmingly sweet and mouthwatering taste.

"I have no regrets," Zaladin said with a hollow laugh. He grasped Dorissa's right calf just below her knee pit and proceeded to lift her leg up to his hip.

Dorissa wrapped her arms around his icy neck, but their activities quickly came to a halt when Annie Jones' harpy-like voice cut through the air from inside the house: "I don't care what you say, that… that _thing_ threatened to kill me, Jillian!"

"Now, that was hardly what I did. However did she jump to that conclusion," Zaladin pondered with a slight sneer, seemingly rather irritated at the interruption.

Dorissa sighed. "Whatever did you say to her before coming outside?"

"I will answer you if you can truthfully say that you want to know."

She giggled and kissed his neck lightly. "I do, but I have a feeling I'm better off without that piece of information. You better go explain your intentions before she decides to alarm the royal guardsmen. We can always finish this later."

He straightened up with a low groan and nodded once, and then he headed for the door.

As Dorissa took a calming breath and straightened her dress that had been pulled slightly askew, a warm wind from behind blew her hair into her face and tousled the long strands. Her brow furrowed. _A warm wind at this hour?  
><em>  
>She slowly turned around, and what she saw had her nailed to the ground from disbelief.<p>

The unnatural red light had exploded across the horizon, setting the sky ablaze, and she now saw clearly what was moving at the center of the inferno: surrounded by heavy, black smoke and roaring flame was the figure of a mighty dragon.

Having stood before the true form of Alexstrasza the Life-Binder, Dorissa did not for one second doubt that the being before her was larger than the dragon queen. His tremendous form took up her whole view, every detail of his flame-wreathed, black body clear, from his enormous metal jaw glowing red-hot from the heat to the very tip of his spear-like tail. And his name rang through Dorissa's mind as if it were yesterday she had found it between the dusty pages of the old history book she had read centuries ago: Neltharion the Earth-Warder, he had been. Now he was Deathwing the Destroyer. And he was headed straight for Stormwind City.

_This is it,_ Dorissa heard herself think through the roar of the nearing apocalypse. _This is the end of Dorissa the Enslaver._

* * *

><p>Do you not simply adore cliffhangers? No? Neither do I. I loathe myself for doing this, but it was truthfully the only fitting way to part the chapters, so you will have to bear with me for putting you through this.<br>And alright, the Cataclysm trailer is technically not set at night, but well, I decided to wave about my artistic license once again. (I should have one laminated and carry it around on my person just in case.)  
>That said - Welcome Zaladin, master of sympathetic entrances.<p> 


	3. The Sundering

**The Sundering**

Seconds before the impact she was struck from the left as Zaladin tackled her and took her with him into the cool waters of the canals. She barely remembered to take a breath before hitting the surface, and she felt the troll turn them both beneath the water to shield her from the blow he took when his back hit the stone bottom.

Almost immediately after, the temperature of the water rose, and looking up, Dorissa saw the light above the surface change from soft night to the colours of a burning sunset. She felt Zaladin's grip loosen around her, and they simultaneously kicked off from the bottom and shot through the water that seemed to be draining with alarming speed.

Dorissa coughed as she hauled herself up on the flagstones of the street again, her soaked dress preventing her from moving as swiftly as she would have.

Most of the wedding guests were already outside, their voices raised in confusion and worry as they bombarded Zaladin and her with questions to which she paid no attention. Some of the druids present had already begun putting out the fires in the roofs with their Typhoon abilities, and she could hear guards shouting orders in the distance.

"The next time the Aspect of Death is headed towards you with incomprehensible speed, would you perhaps do me the favour of _getting out of the way_?" Zaladin sneered while shrugging off his drenched tuxedo jacket.

Dorissa glared at him. "One thing you might want to keep in mind is that emotions are sometimes uncontrollable," she hissed back through gritted teeth.

"Then learn to control yourself," he said coldly, turning his attention away from her to answer Nathaldor's questions.

Jillian pushed through the crowd and put her hand on Dorissa's shoulder, pulling the half-elf out of her state of hurt and confusion. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I have to see what happened."

"Oh no, you don't," Jillian said, holding on to the druid who had readied to take flight. "You have no permission to fly here. A stormcrow they might not notice, but what you've become…"

"You honestly think anyone will be looking my way at this point?" Dorissa asked absently. "I won't be long."

Jillian did have a point. After Dorissa had joined the Sapphire Darkling, she had subconsciously realised she had no reason to conceal what she was any longer, and therefore her tainted spells and abilities had gradually become stronger, but it had also become far more evident that she was no ordinary druid. She could no longer take on the full forms of animals; she was forced into a middle ground of obtaining some of the characteristic features of the beasts, thereby gaining their abilities, but no more was she able to pass as a random bird in the sky when she took flight.

With arms spread wide, Dorissa sprouted white, shimmering feathers from her skin, covering her shoulders and forming a trail of silvery white down her back, and her fingernails turned into long, razor-sharp talons. Her bones twisted and cracked as they became lighter, allowing the large wings she had grown from her shoulder blades to carry her body with ease.

Like a strangely angelic, yet vicious val'kyr, Dorissa kicked off from the flagstones, launching herself into the smoke-darkened air before Zaladin could notice what she was doing. Though very strong, her wings were far more fragile than those of a real stormcrow, and she constantly had to replace feathers that looked to be dripping from her slender figure, leaving a trail of silvery white and tainted violet in her wake.

She landed on a chimney atop the Mage Tower, folding her wings with slight difficulty in the limited space she had between her body and the royal purple tiles. A flapping of another set of wings caught her attention, and she turned her head to the left in time to see the jet black stormcrow land on the roof next to her and shift into Nathaldor's familiar figure.

"This is madness," he said, shielding his mouth and nostrils with his sleeve to avoid inhaling too much smoke.

Dorissa nodded in agreement. Together they watched in disbelief as Deathwing settled atop the two towers that guarded the entrance to the Trade District. The dragon's enormous claws dug into the surface of the stones, making them burst and melt from the intense heat the Aspect radiated. The two elves shielded their ears as Deathwing let out of deafening roar. It quickly turned into an extreme cacophony as the sound of children crying and people screaming and shouting orders chimed in and spread through the capital. Then the dragon unfolded his heavy wings, and as his roar reached its end Deathwing took off, leaving a trail of destruction through the Valley of Heroes. Moments later the Aspect of Death was gone, leaving Stormwind in burning ruins.

"I suppose there is no point in fireworks at the celebration now," Nathaldor said quietly, every trace of his trademark smile wiped from his voice.

Dorissa turned her head and looked at him. "Jillian actually let you follow me?"

"No, she did not. I flew before she could react."

"You should get back to her."

"Yes."

Neither of them moved.

"What happens now?" Dorissa asked.

"I wish I could tell you. But one thing is certain: our world is shattering."

She nodded. "It somehow seemed easier, perhaps even more natural when we sought the war. This time, the war has literally landed on our doorstep."

Nathaldor put his arm around her and gave her smaller frame a light squeeze. "Come." He then leapt off the roof and shifted into the stormcrow midair, and with a sigh, Dorissa unfolded her wings and followed his example.

"He is gone," Nathaldor proclaimed after landing in front of the guests and shifting out of the bird form, "and I do not think he will be returning. It seemed less of a planned attack than a dragon stretching his wings after ages of imprisonment." Jillian caught his eye. Her expression was less than pleasant, and Dorissa found it better not to look at the newlyweds. She did not meet Zaladin's eye either, even though she felt his cold gaze on her. She knew she was postponing the inevitable, but she was in no mood for dealing with his anger.

"Let us head back inside. There is nothing we can do at this point. It will be far easier to get a view on the damage in the light of the morrow," Ildoren said.

The others nodded solemnly, and the gathering slowly started drifting inside. Dorissa was second-last in the row, but as she was about to cross the doorstep, Zaladin's strong fingers closed around her arms and pulled her into a dark corner just outside the house. He placed her so that she was facing the entrance, but not him, and before she could turn he locked her arms behind her back.  
>"What happened to roses and thunderstorms?" Dorissa muttered, not bothering to struggle against his grip.<p>

"They drifted away along with your sense of self-preservation. I will not see such ruthless behaviour on your part again, is that clear?" Zaladin said, a slight snarl in his voice.

"Well, luckily for you, the vertebrae in your neck enable you to turn your head away from me at any time you like," she hissed.

Zaladin sighed and turned her towards him. He looked at her with inscrutable eyes. One of his hands still had her arms in a firm grip, the other he had brought up to her face to trace the black crescent that was etched into her forehead. "I know you are free, Dorissa. But freedom comes with responsibility."

"How ironic that you of all people should say that," Dorissa said with a defiant draw on her lips. "I would think I knew that better than you, seeing you only remember the last three years of your existence, and one of them you spent slaughtering innocents and training armies to do the same."  
>His grasp around her arms tightened, and his free hand pulled her head back, exposing her neck. "How ironic that you say so as if you do not find my past enticing." He let a finger slide along the throbbing vein beneath the skin on her neck.<p>

"This has nothing to do with my feelings about your story," Dorissa huffed. "On-topic, I did not intentionally place myself in the danger zone tonight, Zaladin."

"Is chasing after the Aspect of Death not exactly that, I wonder."

"I was at no risk of being hurt at all. You have no right to act this way."

"I have no right to act which way?"

"This… possessive."

"But Dorissa, dearest Dorissa…"

She gasped and unwillingly let a moan escape her lips as he suddenly brought his lips to her neck and let his sharpened canines close around her skin. "I do have the right to act this possessive. Every right in this world," Zaladin whispered, his cold, sweet breath enveloping her.

"I'm not an object," Dorissa managed pathetically, every part of her body already wanting desperately to give in to his scent and allure.

"No. But you are mine." His fingers slid down her chest and closed around the enormous sapphire. He pulled her closer by the strong silver chain. "You flesh, your blood and bones, they all belong to me, my darling."

She could hear the grin in his voice. Then he released her, and before she knew it, he had stepped inside and left her alone. Her head was spinning wildly, and she sat down and leaned against the singed wall, desperately trying to calm her madly beating heart.

Her pride kept her from ever admitting it. But there were times when she realised that the love of her life was the most unsettling person she had ever known. And it scared her.

* * *

><p>She was beginning to feel the curse in her veins. It was not very evident yet, manifesting only as a sudden craving for rare steak, a worsening of her already ill-tempered manner and a heightening of her senses. She had told no one of the incident, and she had disposed of Pamela during the night after the girl had bitten her to ensure that it did not slip from her tiny lips that the priestess was a carrier.<p>

She had dumped the body in the river, weighting it down with stones to make sure it would not be discovered any time soon. Hubert had not asked any questions about the girl the following morning. Belfrida knew he was almost certain of her actions, but he seemed to have decided upon not mentioning it again.

They had spent days trying to fend off the rampaging worgen. The forsaken were closing in on them, too, and everybody knew Gilneas had already been lost.

Still, its people fought valiantly, and they were all so focused on salvaging whatever and saving whomever they could that no one had noticed any changes in the priestess' behaviour.

But Belfrida felt it growing inside her. With every injured soldier she healed, every infected citizen she watched being sent to the grave another little part of her humanity slipped away between her dark fingers. She sometimes felt her bones crack as if readying themselves for the change. The priestess knew it was only a matter of time. If they did not find a cure, she would have to tell Hubert. And her husband was soft. He would not reason the way she had with Pamela. But he would not be able to keep it a secret. He would seek advice, and before she could say 'hopscotch' news of her condition would be spread far and wide. She could not take that risk. But on the other hand, who could she tell but him?

"It's madness out there," Hubert said as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Belfrida put aside the bandages she was preparing and rushed to aid her husband in ridding himself of his hunting rifle and ammunition. His eyes sent her an exhausted _thank you_ as he retrieved a tissue from his pocket and wiped the dirt and soot from his brow. He sighed and dragged himself into the living room where he slumped into the sturdy armchair and, much to Belfrida's irritation, took off his dirt-caked boots and placed them on her recently cleaned antique carpet.

"They're slaughtering people in the streets now," Hubert said, not noticing his wife's twitching face as she removed his boots and returned them to the hallway. "Most of them already transformed, but… friends, neighbours, relatives. All fuelling the funeral pyres in the city square." He thanked his wife when she placed a steaming cup of tea in his outstretched hand. "Tell me why it has to be this way, will you?"

Belfrida studied the back of his head with a furrowed brow. Sir Hubert Crowley. Why in the name of Azeroth had she married this man? Because her irrational brain told her she loved him. _Bloody brain chemicals._ She did not need an emotional and sulky husband in this situation.

"I don't know, dear," she said absently. Perhaps it was better to simply get it over with. "No one's found a cure yet, I take it?" she then asked.

"You think we would be putting people down if someone had?"

"No, of course not." Belfrida bit her lip.

"Come over here, love," Hubert said with a tired smile, and she came and sat on the armrest of the chair. "How would I get by without you," he mumbled as he put his arm around her waist.

The priestess managed a smile in return. Even if she sometimes almost hated his ways she did love him. He made her happy. Somehow his moustached face was all she did not tire of seeing every day.  
>She reached out with her left hand and stroked his cheek. But as she did, her sleeve slid up her arm and exposed the slowly closing wound on her wrist.<p>

Hubert's eye caught it immediately. "What's this?" he asked and covered her hand with his.

"Oh, I was careless with the kitchen knife, it's nothing," Belfrida started and tried to remove her hand, but her husband's stronger fingers locked around hers and held her wrist out in front of him.  
>She did not know why she had even tried to lie to him. There was a reason he was an advisor to the king; Sir Hubert Crowley was no fool. She could practically see the pieces fall into place in his changing eyes. He looked up at her in disbelief.<p>

"You've been hiding this from me for how long?"

"I-"

"Since the night Pamela was here, of course," he cut her off. "You _murdered_ a seven year old because of this?" He suddenly jumped up from the chair, his usually so calm and light face darkened with anger, and Belfrida immediately got up and backed away from him.

"Hubert, I didn't mean to-"

"Mean to what? Mean to keep me in the dark and let me kill the citizens of Gilneas every day without knowing the curse was _inside my own bloody house_!" He began walking towards her, forcing her into a corner or the living room. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Hubert, please, calm yourself and let me explain!" Belfrida pleaded, but he was unreachable.

"_Calm myself?_" he snarled and grasped her upper arms painfully hard.

Something clicked inside her then. Suddenly her vision clouded over, she saw nothing but a red haze before her eyes. She breathed in, her nostrils filling with the smell of Hubert's body, his skin so close and exposed just above the collar of his dark vest. Through the all-consuming rush of pounding blood in her ears she heard him shouting at her, and her entire body filled with an indescribable rage that exploded outwards from the very center of her being and surged through her limbs. She closed her eyes opened her mouth, and a terrifying growl escaped her lips as she let the beast take over.

Her bones cracked and twisted as she grew, grew, grew, her silk dress tore and she lunged for his throat, she tasted blood on her tongue, hot in her mouth, delicious flesh between her teeth, the smell of blood, the taste of prey, she could not stop, she would not stop, never ever would she stop.

* * *

><p>The rain fell quietly on the tiles of the Wahl Cottage. The roses in the garden were blooming, raindrops clinging to their scarlet petals. An orange tabby cat cowered on the wooden step before the front door with an indignant draw about its thick white whiskers. Clothes hung from the washing line as they had done hours before the downpour. But Grandma Wahl was exhausted. Troubles in the city had so far kept away from her little nook, and she had been able to get through a whole day of gardening completely undisturbed.<p>

But now it was time to rest. The kettle was on the fire, she was in her favourite slippers, and the clothes would dry in the morning. There was no need to go out in the rain now.

She sat down in her old creaking rocking chair and put on her reading glasses, but just as she reached for her knitting needles and yarn in the basket in the corner she heard a complaining meow from outside. Grandma Wahl sighed and got up with a smile. "Coming, Chance," she called.

When she opened the door, the round tabby slipped past her into the cottage and rubbed the side of its face against her leg on its way in. "Good kitty," the old lady said quietly. She was about to close the door, but her eye caught a movement outside the garden gate, and she stroked her short grey hair out of her eyes and looked closer.

A cloaked figure stood on the other side of the gate. The old woman's eyesight was not as good as it used to be, and even through her glasses she had to narrow her eyes in concentration to make out the figure's face beneath the dark hood.

"Belfrida Hale, is that you?" she said.

The figure nodded.

"Well, come come, don't be standing out there in the rain," Grandma Wahl said and waved the other woman closer.

The figure closed the garden gate behind her and came closer.

"Come in, come in," the older woman said absently as she stepped aside to let the priestess pass before she shut the front door. "I was just making tea, it'll be ready in a minute. How are you, dear?"

The tall woman cleared her throat."I… Mrs Wahl, I know this is a lot to ask, but would you let me stay in your home for a little while?"

Grandma Wahl blinked in surprise and looked up at the priestess. "But of course. That's the least I can do in return for you fixing my old hip. I'm as fit as ever thanks to you," the old woman said with a smile. "Come now, let me take that cloak for you, you must be freezing."

Belfrida said nothing. She slowly reached up and undid the clasps that held her heavy cloak in place around her shoulders. She let the drenched wool slide off her elegant frame.

"Good heavens, Belfrida, what happened to you?" Grandma Wahl exclaimed. The removing of the priestess' cloak had exposed her clothes beneath it; her forest green dress was ripped down the black, the front covered in dark brownish red stains that looked unmistakably like drying blood.

"Sit down, dear, tell me what's going on!" the old woman said and lead the priestess to the sofa where she sat the tall woman down.

"I…" Belfrida stared blankly ahead of her, clutching her left wrist in her right hand. She then looked up and met Grandma Wahl's eyes with her dark green gaze. "I think I just killed my husband." 

* * *

><p>There you go - that settles the cliffhanger. And poor Bel's situation is getting messier with every passing minute.<p> 


	4. Farewells

**Farewells  
><strong>

Gilneas was prone to rain. But that day the clouds had no more drops to spill, and the sun carefully sent a few fragile beams across the pale, grey sky. The puddles on the dark ground glittered in the light and reflected the damp roses in the garden of the Wahl Cottage. Their deep red colour lit up in the dim surroundings, only matched by the scarlet smear of footprints that covered the wooden doorstep and led away from the little building. The door itself was almost torn off its hinges, the wood clacking against the frame in the light breeze.

The orange tabby rounded the corner of the house with a lonesome meow. It crawled up on the doorstep and padded inside the cottage with wide, wary eyes.

The sofa had been tipped over, and there were long claw marks in the upholstery. The remnants of the rocking chair lay in the corner of the room, shattered pieces of wood spread across the floor. Not a sound was heard from the figure that lay near the torn carpet on the floor; the old woman was completely still, the blood flow from the deep bite marks in her left shoulder nearly ceased.

The tabby slowly crept closer with a soft purr from its throat. Its owner did not respond. The cat then nudged her elbow with its forehead and let out a careful meow. The old woman's wrist twitched, and with an enormous effort she slowly turned her head towards the cat. "Hello Chance," she croaked, the shadow of a smile flashing across her pale, dry lips.

* * *

><p>The rain poured down over Moonglen Village, hitting the soft, mossy ground and filling the air with the refreshing scent of new life. A feral snarl broke the idyllic sound of the downpour, followed by a low, hollow laughter that made the few birds in the nearby trees brave the weather conditions to find shelter elsewhere.<p>

"Give it up, Nathaldor. You once again prove to be no match for me, and it is not my desire to hurt you more than what seems to be necessary for you to understand this."

The large feline to whom the double-layered voice spoke growled in response to the mocking tone and attempted a pounce at the death knight in the opposite end of the clearing. Zaladin did, however, seem to be perfectly aware of this move, and midair he ducked and slammed the flat side of his enormous sword into the cat's soft stomach, sending his opponent directly into a nearby tree trunk.

"Oh dear, I hope he's not too rough on him," Jillian said, biting her lip worriedly.

Dorissa smirked and leaned calmly against a sturdy tree to her right. "Don't worry, Nathaldor is tough. Besides, he's had it coming for weeks."

Which was true. Before the disastrous wedding day, Nathaldor had decided to embrace his feral side.

After the wedding, the newlyweds, the Sapphire Darkling and Zaladin had returned to Moonglen Village. It had been three weeks since they arrived, and Nathaldor had been itching to test his skills against anyone willing to fight him. He had sent almost every worthy member of the Sapphire Darkling out of the ring in little pieces for Ildoren to patch up, but this had soon become a bore. Looking for a challenge, the elf had cockily begun trying to persuade Zaladin to duel him. The latter had shown little to no interest in the self-confident druid's requests. But he had eventually caved because Dorissa, utterly sick of listening to Nathaldor's complaints, had asked the death knight to get it over with and send the elf down for the count.

The cat let out an agonised noise as it landed on the ground, and enveloped in pearl white light and misty smoke, the feline slowly transformed into the tall, raven-haired night elf. Nathaldor sent the troll across from him a reproachful look.

"There was no need for that!" he said irritably while trying to get on his feet. He then groaned, and giving up, he settled against the tree he had been forced to tackle.

Zaladin snorted coolly as he approached the pained elf. "Nathaldor, you were very aware of my ways in combat when you asked me to fight you. What you did lack was common sense, it seems. I would take that to Ildoren if I were you," he added, pointing at Nathaldor's shirt that was soaked by not only the pouring rain, but fresh blood, seemingly from a broken rib that had punctured the elf's skin from the inside.

"I will, if Lord Grimtusk is in the mood to help an injured comrade to his feet," Nathaldor said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Zaladin ignored the comment, and grasping the elf's lower arm in a rather ungentle manner he pulled Nathaldor up and supported him until he had regained control of his limbs.

Dorissa glanced at Jillian. The small, slender woman, who was usually such a joyful character, looked nothing like herself in that moment. Her teeth were ground together as she marched across the clearing and placed herself in front of the two tall males.

"I told you it was a terrible idea, you stubborn bastard," she growled at Nathaldor. "Look at this mess." She unbuttoned his shirt with suspiciously practised fingers and examined his bloody puncture wound. "I bet you didn't even land a scratch on him," she added irritably, gesturing towards Zaladin.

"As a matter of fact I am quite convinced I did," Nathaldor said, eyeing the death knight challengingly. "Turn around, please."

Zaladin snorted, but indulged the elf. On his right shoulder were four long, deep claw marks. "Aha!" Nathaldor said triumphantly. "That is actually more than I could have hoped for. Perhaps next time I will make you bleed," he grinned.

"I highly doubt that, seeing how ridiculously precise your timing would have to be to make that happen, as with my scarce use of Blood Runes," the troll said with a lazy smirk.

"Oh for heaven's sake, you two are horrible," Jillian interrupted. "I'm taking you to Ildoren right now," she added, turning to Nathaldor with a dark scowl.

"There will be no need for that." The two women turned, and they all looked up at the sound of Ildoren's voice. The blue-haired night elf joined them in the clearing. In his arms he carried two large brown envelopes.

"Your orders have arrived," he explained and handed the envelopes to Zaladin and Dorissa.  
>The latter broke the Stormwind City seal and pulled out the papers inside. "They've discovered a new realm by the name of Vashj'ir off the Eastern Kingdoms," she murmured as she read her instructions. "But your faction," – she glanced at Zaladin – "seems to be getting in the way of the Stormwind trade ships. I am to meet the recent attacks by the Horde with 'swift and just force'," she finished with a cocked brow.<p>

"I am dispatched to Mount Hyjal; I will not be getting in your way," the death knight said indifferently.

Dorissa nodded, silently letting out a sigh of relief. She then looked up at Jillian and Nathaldor. "Why didn't you two get anything?"

"I haven't enlisted," Jillian said. "I... need a pause from all the madness for a little while," she said apologetically, but Dorissa sensed there was something she was not telling. She put it aside and decided to ask the human later.

"And I was hoping you could tell me why I have heard nothing yet?" Nathaldor said, turning to Ildoren.

"I wish I could. I did not get any instructions myself. I suppose we will just have to wait and see," the other elf said. "But now that I am here I would be quite grateful if you would let me fix that for you," he added and gestured to Nathaldor's bloody shirt. The latter sighed and carefully shrugged off his shirt to let Ildoren get a full view on the damage.

While Nathaldor's wound was being dealt with, Dorissa turned to Zaladin. "Let me take care of yours then," she said.

Zaladin nodded once and turned his back to her. She took off her right glove, channeled her limited healing resources into her hand and let her fingertips slide down the deep cuts in the troll's dead flesh to close the skin. When she was finished she stepped back and studied his figure. "Four more for your impressive collection," she stated and let her eyes run over his tapestry of black scars.

He chuckled darkly once and turned around again. "When are you ordered to leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn. I'm guessing that goes for you, too?"

"That is correct." He paused and looked at her with slightly narrowing eyes. "For how long?" he then asked.

"Indefinitely. And you?"

"The same."

Dorissa sighed. "Splendid. I suppose we'll just have to make the most of the day then."

"Actually," Ildoren said carefully, "you two are not the only ones leaving. A lot of the others are being dispatched tomorrow, too. I believe I heard Eridess and Luridel talk of a feast tonight before half the residents take their leave."

"That sounds lovely, Ildoren. We'll be there," Jillian said with a small smile. She entwined her fingers with Nathaldor's and looked at Dorissa and Zaladin. "You, too?"

"Of course," Dorissa said absently, her eyes not leaving Zaladin's inscrutable gaze.

* * *

><p>The festivities were held in the long house of the village, located in the very centre of Moonglen. Almost all the villagers had assembled to wish the ones who were leaving good luck.<p>

Ameltha and Elathem had outdone themselves: the entire room had been decorated with garlands of rich, dark wildflowers, woven intricately into each other and sprinkled with tiny, glittering rhinestones that made the petals shine as if fresh raindrops clung to them.

The tables were booming with food of every imaginable origin, and the air in the room was swirling with absolutely delicious scents to everyone's delight but the death knight's.

"This is excruciating," Zaladin stated dryly. He was seated next to Dorissa at the far end of the long table.

The half-elf turned to look at him, laughing when she noticed his utterly defeated expression. "What is?"

"My senses are practically being bombarded from every possible angle with the scents of spices, meat juices, wine, fruit, sauces. Yet I am not capable of tasting any of it."

Jillian looked up at him on the other side of the table. "Why not?"

"His digestive system stopped completely about a year ago," Dorissa explained with a smirk.

"Aww, you poor thing," Jillian laughed, earning a scowl and a snort from the death knight.

Dorissa felt a hand on her shoulder. "Dorissa?" She turned around in her chair and looked up at Ameltha and Elathem. "We have something we thought you might like to see," the twins said in their wispy voices.

"What is it?"

The two white-haired women handed her something she assumed was a portfolio, heavy and leather-bound with scratches from many years of use in the surface. "We found it when we cleaned the vault in Darnassus a few days ago. It was your mother's. She was quite the artist."

Dorissa looked up at them in surprise. "You kept it all these years?"

"Look inside it."

She carefully undid the strap that held the leather in place and unfolded the portfolio. Inside she found a stack of sketches, all beautifully detailed in black ink and signed by her mother, Selene Endridge. There were flowers, landscapes and animals, a lot of them birds, but most of them stray cats in the Stormwind City alleys. Upon turning a sketch of a smiling woman she did not recognise, Dorissa's heart skipped a beat as she suddenly found herself looking at the face a tiny baby girl safely wrapped in quilted blankets and lying in a wooden crib. The infant already had a full head of hair, and her ears had little points that peeked out through the strands of white.

"This is me," Dorissa murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Can I see it?" Jillian asked and leaned over the table to carefully take the fragile sketch from Dorissa's outstretched hand. The human exhumed a longing sound. "You were so adorable, Riss," she said with a glowing smile. "If this is what half-elf babies look like…" She had a strange look in her eyes when she glanced up at Nathaldor who was engaged in conversation with Luridel.

Dorissa smirked and looked down at the sketch that had been revealed upon removing the one of her.

She was looking at the face of a male night elf. His white hair was loose and fell in slightly wavy strands down his chest. His beard reached his collarbones and was firmly braided. He had a stern look on his face, but Selene's skilled hand had managed to capture the kind light in his eyes, and he looked all but unpleasant. In the corner of the paper where Dorissa's mother had usually just signed with her name, a few slightly smeared words were found above her signature: _My darling Heldoran. I love you._  
>"Heldoran Darkwing," Dorissa said with wonder in her voice. "This is my father."<p>

"Indeed," the twins said. "As far as we know that is the only existing rendition of his face now. It is remarkable that the papers have not suffered more through all those years."

"It is." Dorissa's eyes travelled down the paper and stopped upon noticing a detail that had avoided her attention in the first glance: around his neck, Heldoran carried a long, silver chain. From it hung a large pendant that formed two upright silver wings that met at their tips and were joined together at the bottom by a round, dim onyx.

"What is that?" she asked the twins and pointed at the necklace.

Ameltha and Elathem smiled. "It was a family heirloom dating all the way back to Saphiren Darkwing's father."

"You speak in the past tense," Zaladin stated.

"No one has seen it for centuries. Lost with Heldoran when he was slain by the Gurubashi trolls."  
>"Too bad. That would've looked good around your neck, Riss," Jillian said with a smirk. "Well," she added, "had you had any room for it." She gestured towards the enormous gemstone that hung from the silver chain around the half-elf's slender neck.<p>

Dorissa smiled at her. She then looked up at the twins again. "Thank you so much for bringing these to me," she said gratefully.

"You are most welcome." And with that the two females drifted off.

"You share a lot of his features," Zaladin said as he studied the sketch.

"Especially the cheekbones," Jillian added.

"I suppose so. I wish I could have met him," Dorissa said quietly and let her fingers run carefully down the fragile drawing. She then quickly put all the sketches back in the portfolio and neatly folded the leather again.

"A toast to hoping that our orders will arrive soon so that I am not stuck with the tedious duty of looking after the gardens while you are all out saving the world," she heard Nathaldor say, and the gathering laughed in agreement and raised their glasses.

As Dorissa did as they, she looked at Jillian whose face seemed slightly jittery. The woman across from her put her glass to her lips and tilted her head back, and Dorissa suddenly paid close attention to the movement of the human's neck; she was feigning.

"I presume you have noticed it?" Lost in thought as she was, Zaladin's voice in her ear startled her, but she managed to avoid jumping in her chair. His cold breath tickled the nape of her neck.

"Noticed?"

"Jillian."

Dorissa looked at the woman's glass again. "Yes. Do you think she's..?"

"She is. She practically reeks of hormones."

She glanced up at the death knight. He was eyeing Jillian with the ghost of a smirk on his pale lips. "You can smell that?"

Zaladin looked down at her. "Of course I can," he said, now smiling crookedly at her. "As I can smell when you want me."

Dorissa's cheeks immediately flushed as she looked away from him, silently wishing he was the only one who had noticed.

She heard a deep chuckle emitting from his chest region, and she sucked in a breath of air when she felt his ice cold hand on her thigh beneath the table. "You have nothing to worry about," he murmured in her ear as if having read her mind.

She wanted to take his hand in hers and lead its way further up, but before she reached out he had removed it. Dorissa let out a light sigh of irritation, but she was forced to conceal a grin when she heard her death knight utter one word tinged with cruel allure in Zandali: _"Soon."  
><em>  
>Suddenly feeling much more cheerful, Dorissa leaned over the table and caught Jillian's attention. "Would you come with me outside for a second?" she asked.<p>

"Sure," the warlock said, and the two of them got up and excused themselves to head out through the door.

"What's up?" Jillian asked as she closed the door safely behind them.

"I want to know when you're going to tell him," Dorissa said with a smirk, sipping her wine.

"Tell what to whom?"

"Tell your husband that you are pregnant."

"Schh! Keep it down, I'm not even sure yet," Jillian said, her tone flustered. "How the hell do you know that anyway?"

"You haven't swallowed a drop," Dorissa said, pointing to the glass in Jillian's hand. "And Zaladin's acute sense of smell confirmed it."

"Shoot," the human said, quickly ridding herself of the liquid with a flick of her wrist. "Wait, sense of smell?"

"Don't ask," Dorissa said with a light laugh, "I'm as confused as you." A thought then occurred to her. "This is why you didn't enlisted, isn't it?"

"It is. I'm quite happy I didn't, seeing that your orders are all labeled 'indefinite'. I wouldn't want to be caught in a wildfire out in the wilderness in nine months," the warlock said. She then sighed. "Do you think Nathaldor knows?"

"I'm quite sure he doesn't. Which brings me back to my question: when are you planning on telling him?"

Jillian shrugged with a nervous chuckle. "I don't know. Probably soon, but I'm afraid of telling him and then miscarrying," she said.

"Have you two actually discussed having children?"

"Not… per se," the woman said. She looked up at her friend. "Do you think he's ready?"

"Jillian, he's three hundred and seventy-eight years old."

"Well, I know that, but you're not that much younger than him, and it's not like you act like my great grandma."

"Trust me, Jill," Dorissa said. "He's been waiting for you to come along for actual centuries. This will be the most wonderful gift you can give him."

Jillian smiled gratefully and was about to form a sentence, but before she uttered it the door was opened by a very cheerful and slightly tipsy Nathaldor. "There's my beautiful wife," he said and wrapped his arms around the young woman. "What kind of mischief are you two planning out here?"

"Oh, nothing, we were just…"

"Female business," Dorissa quickly said, coming to the aid of her friend. "Your wife has a bit of a headache, so you should probably keep her away from the spirits for the rest of the night," she lied with a convincing smile.

"I shall," Nathaldor smirked and kissed Jillian's lips. "Are you coming back inside, my love?"

"Yes, I'm coming now," the human said. As she was heading through the door she turned her head and sent Dorissa a silent _thank you.  
><em>  
>The elf grinned back at her and turned away from the door. She heard it close behind her, but the subtle sound of someone else slipping through the opening and joining her on the porch escaped her sensitive ears. When she turned around she was greatly startled by landing right in Zaladin's outstretched arms. She gasped and dropped her glass which the troll caught nonchalantly before a drop of the dark liquid could spill.<p>

"Oh Dorissa, you excite me so when you react like this," he said with a dark smirk, pulling the elf closer with a hand on her waist, sending a chill up her spine with his icy fingers.

"Is that so," she giggled nervously, her heart still racing in her chest. "I'm beginning to suspect that you're doing it on purpose."

"You speak as if you do not know me at all," Zaladin said and ran his hand up her back to twist her silvery hair between his fingers.

"So you are?"

"Tell me, would you believe if I said I was not?"

"Not for one minute."

The troll grinned. "There you have it." He then silenced her with a kiss that nearly had her knees cave in, but he held her securely against his chest before she completely lost control of her limbs.  
>"Let's not go back inside?" Dorissa suggested dizzily as she raised her arms to wrap them around Zaladin's hard neck.<p>

"If that is your wish," the troll smirked. With ridiculous ease he lifted her up and held her secured against the heavy post behind her. Then his white lips were upon her neck, his tusks caging her head against the wood.

Dorissa sighed happily and ran her hands up his muscular back and continued down his chest to undo the buttons on his shirt with her fingers and let her hands slip inside to trace the many scars on his skin.

_"Come with me,"_Zaladin whispered in her ear, and before she knew it he had set her down again and stepped off the porch, gallantly reaching for her hand. Dorissa cocked a brow with a questioning smile and entwined her fingers in his.

In a haze, she followed him through the village, accompanied by the soft whisper of a light breeze through the woods. They followed the path up to their hut, but Zaladin continued past it and led her to the moonwell in the very north-western corner of the village.

In a fluid movement he stepped up on the smooth stone edge and sent her a challenging grin.

"Seriously?" she said with a laugh.

"Am I known to be a kidding individual?" Zaladin said with a twinkle in his glowing eyes.

"No. But you're not exactly predictable," Dorissa smirked, took his outstretched hand and stepped up on the edge. "Now what do you intend to do with me?" she asked cockily.

He said nothing. Instead he suddenly lifted her up, swung her gracefully around and stepped into the always glowing water of the moonwell. "I," he said and locked her eyes with a mischievous draw on his lips, "have been pondering."

"Pondering?"

"Mhmm…" He slowly moved down in a crouch and laid her down in the cool water. The glow of the surface shimmered across her body with a pale turquoise light."Yes," he murmured and began stalking up her body with an intense gaze.

"What is it?" she asked, suddenly feeling slightly nervous.

"The light of the well," Zaladin said. "It emphasizes your skin and hair perfectly."

Dorissa's heartbeat quickened. "My skin and hair, you say?" She then proceeded to reach down and slowly pull her soaked dress up her body and over her head, leaving it on the edge of the well. "And now?"

The way he looked at her just then somehow made her feel young and innocent again, and she felt the heat crawling into her cheeks as she fidgeted with a silvery strand of her hair.

Zaladin did not speak a word. But the flash of red in his eyes spoke for itself; the Blood Runes were already surging through his veins.

This would be a night to remember. 

* * *

><p>Ever wonder how Grandma Wahl became a worgen? I did, and I knew I wanted to create a little story for her, and Belfrida's troubles seemed the ideal explanation.<br>And as the title indicates, stuff shall unfold soon, I promise.


	5. Jinxed

**Jinxed**

Belfrida Hale had always stood out in a crowd. Her smooth dark skin, long straight nose and emerald eyes were not easy to miss. She used to turn heads back in Gilneas, gliding through the streets in her long, elegant garments, shining black braid swinging from side to side like the lure of an anglerfish. Men wanted her, women wanted to be her. More than once she had heard them whisper when she passed the shops. _That Crowley is a lucky man,_ they would say. _Bet she's something between the sheets, too._

That was history now. All of it gone, her life erased like footprints in the sand stolen by the tide.

It had been much easier than she had thought sneaking onto the zeppelin by Brill in the Tirisfal Glades. The curse had made her agile and swift, but most of all it had taught her how to slip through the shadows unnoticed.

Belfrida had never before left the sanctuary of her home city. She loved the familiar streets and alleys, the scent of chimney smoke and afternoon tea always hanging in the air. She had taken great pleasure in watching the people around her, always feeling better than them, always neatly clean and proud of being someone everybody knew and admired. She had no reason to leave and no use for learning of other places. Gilneas was all she ever wanted to see.

And she was never going to return. She hated herself. She had no idea whether the old Wahl-woman was alive or not. And she had no intention of going back to find out. She did not even remember why she had snapped and turned. She recalled something about a messenger showing up at the cottage. Perhaps something about the royal guard looking for her, but everything beyond that memory was a haze up until the point she had found herself on the floor covered in someone else's blood once again. Belfrida had panicked, and before she had realised what she was doing she had taken the few necessities she could find, including every penny the old woman owned, stolen the sturdy little horse that was kept on a nearby field and turned her back on Gilneas forever.

She had pushed the poor pinto to its very limit and abandoned the horse by the wall around the Ruins of Lordaeron the next day. She knew the wolves would have it, but she did not care.

As she crept aboard the zeppelin and made the inside of an old dusty crate her hiding place, she could not bring herself to care where the airship was headed, either. She needed to get away as fast as she could. And should anyone come upon the stowaway worgen and end her life, well, good riddance. She had not the courage to end her own misery, so if it did happen she would take what was coming with her head held high. All the better to not think of her deeds. To not think of Hubert.

Not think of the terror in his eyes when she lunged for his throat, not remember the taste of his flesh between her teeth, not recall that the very last words that escaped his lips were her name and a loving apology. Why he would apologise she could not in her wildest dreams comprehend. But his weak voice and his final breath echoed through her mind where she lay in the darkness enwrapped in the foul-smelling covers on the hard wooden bottom of the crate. And for the first time since that fatal night she allowed her emotions to take the better of her, and silently she wept like the little child she had never allowed herself to be.

* * *

><p>"Stand still, ugly piece of scaly sh-"<p>

"Need assistance?"

Dorissa huffed and looked up at Krohn who had carefully approached her. The unnatural barrier of trees at the border between Moonglen Village and the rest of Ashenvale Forest, commonly known as the Wall, was painted with the bleak morning light from above. The half-elf was preparing her stubborn violet proto-drake for the journey to Stormwind. But the winged she-devil was not in the slightest interested in having the heavy leather saddle strapped around its belly, and being Dorissa physically superior it had every last say-so in that matter.

"No, I've got it," she hissed irritably, but her following attempt ended once more in embarrassing failure as the primitive creature simply raised its left wing and shoved her out of reach, resulting in her falling and landing hard on her backside.

Waking that morning, Dorissa had turned in the bed, her limbs still sore from last night's escapades. Her eyes were still closed as she smiled, expecting to find herself in Zaladin's arms and share a passionate goodbye with the death knight before they headed their separate ways.

But she had turned and found the bed empty save for her own shape. She had called his name questioningly, but no one had answered. Confused, she had gotten out of bed and wandered through the hut, but there was no sign of her life-mate.

"Dorissa, she senses your foul mood," the enormous tauren said patiently and helped her get to her feet. "Let me take care of this for you," he added, and before she could protest he had calmly taken the saddle off her hands, laid it on the creature's hard, scaly back and fastened the wide straps beneath its belly.

"Now," Krohn said and turned to Dorissa who stood with a clenched jaw and crossed arms behind him. "What troubles you?"

She looked up at him and sighed. "Zaladin had left without a word when I woke this morning. One would think I'd be able to predict something like that by now, but alas, that isn't the case." She sat down on the ground, and the tauren joined her and put his heavy hand on her shoulder.

"What if something happens to one of us and we never said goodbye?" Dorissa said quietly.

"Unlikely," Krohn said with a smile.

"I know. But in case you forgot, we both lead rather risky lives," the half-elf muttered briskly.

"Dorissa, I met you in a Horde inn where you were engaged in a drinking contest with what I have come to understand turned out to be a rapist."

"Okay, so you haven't forgotten." She paused and then cocked a brow. "How do you know of the rapist bit?"

"Zaladin may have mentioned it."

Dorissa snarled and looked away. "Zaladin, of course. Why would he leave me like that?"

"Your death knight has a habit of rationalising very coolly. I presume he reasoned it was easier that way. Why I cannot say."

"I suppose he doesn't realise it hurts me." She sighed and looked up at her hairy friend. "Are you not heading out?"

"No," he said, suddenly sounding incredibly tired. He let out a heavy breath that had his nose ring swing to and fro before he spoke again. "I do not wish for a part in any of this. I feel terribly old, Dorissa. And this world is not for old people."

"So you're on permanent garden duty, I take it," she said with a half-hearted smile.

"And hen duty. Do not underestimate the powers of eleven peckish hens when the only food source within reach is the sack of corn you hold in your arms," Krohn pointed out, making Dorissa giggle at the absurdity of the image.

"Something tells me you won't let them get the better of you," she said and leaned against his soft shoulder.

"Hmm, perhaps not. Nathaldor is a different story, however."

"What about him?"

The tauren ran an enormous hand through his black mane. "He is restless. He longs for the thrill of battle, and not receiving his orders yet is testing his patience."

Dorissa's brow furrowed lightly. "I would have thought he would enjoy every minute away from it all as long as Jill was at his side."

"He does. But I have known him for many years now. He is in his right place when there is blood to be shed."

"Aren't we all," Dorissa said, smiling grimly.

"No," Krohn said with a soft smile. "No, we are not."

* * *

><p>The heat felt good. She had never enjoyed physical activity much, but it almost felt cleansing sweating in the heavy jungle air.<p>

When the zeppelin had landed, Belfrida had no idea what to expect. She did not know much of the goings on outside Gilneas, and it had caught her completely off guard when she carefully crept out of the crate and looked outside to find herself in the middle of the jungle in what looked to be a Horde encampment. She had managed to sneak out unscathed, but having no idea where she was or where to head next. So she had simply started walking.

It had been a hard trip. Her heels were made for the flagstones of Gilneas, never crossing vegetation except the occasional flowers in front gardens when she went on patient calls. They kept getting stuck in the thick roots of the trees around her, and she had quickly decided it was easier to take them off and make the journey barefooted. She was thirsty, hungry and exhausted, but she had kept walking until she finally strode up a hill and found herself on what looked to be an actual path through the jungle. She had tried continuing, but days had gone by since she had last eaten. Her last energy resources had been drained on the long walk, and she had collapsed on the ground at the side of the path.

She was awoken an hour later by the gruff voices of two men who appeared to be on their way through the jungle. They had halted their horses, and one of them had given her something to drink from his waterskin. They had taken her with them, and by sunset they had arrived by what they called the 'Rebel Camp'.

Six days had passed, and Belfrida managed alright. She did not believe she would ever get used to never really feeling clean, and she missed her extravagant and expensive garments. But those were minor costs in exchange for freedom.

She still failed to remember the names of the other people in the camp. She could not truthfully say that she cared, either. She helped them with the basics: cooking, washing clothes and patching up the hunters when they came back with fresh rations. No one knew who she was, and no one asked for her story. All they knew was that she was a priestess. She liked that.

Raised voices on the other side of the camp caught her attention, and Belfrida looked up from the carrots she was neatly chopping.

The voices were those of a young red-haired woman and what the priestess had come to understand was called a gnome. They stood by a large black cauldron, and the gnome appeared to be brewing up something the woman did not like the look of.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Osborn," the redhead said, worriedly chewing on her lip.

"Oh come come now, it can't hurt to try," the gnome said, scratching the remnants of grey hair on the side of his head. "Bring the body here!"

One of the men who had found Belfrida came closer, dragging what appeared to be an enormous humanoid body wrapped in cloth along the ground. The burden must be incredibly heavy, for the strong man's muscles were visibly strained, and large sweat beads were running down his temples.  
>"Excellent, thank you," the gnome Osborn said, adjusting his large pink goggles.<p>

Belfrida's brow furrowed, and she decided it was worth inspecting what they were up to. She let carrots be carrots, got up and carefully approached the odd scenery. She settled against a wagon and peeked into the cauldron.

Beneath the thick, reeking smoke the emitted from it, she spotted what she assumed was an abnormally large skull. Two long, ivory tusks grew from it, and the entire thing could barely fit inside the limited space it was given. Something about the whole setup made Belfrida's skin crawl, but it somehow excited her.

She took a few steps closer and cleared her throat, making the red-haired woman look up. "What's he attempting?" she asked with a nod of her head towards Osborn who was currently occupied with removing the linen scraps from the massive body on the ground.

"He claims the skull in there's been talking to him," the woman said with a nervous glance towards the cauldron. "He says it's asked him to place it inside that." She pointed towards the body. "But… I don't know, I don't like it. Many strange things happen in this jungle, and talking skulls can't exactly be a good sign."

Belfrida's eyes narrowed. She felt in her gut that she should stay away, but somehow she was drawn towards the cauldron again. She kneeled down and waved away some of the heavy smoke to look at the large skull again.

"Can you hear me?" she whispered with almost immovable lips.

She gasped upon feeling a powerful presence around her, filling her up and speaking inside her mind: _I hear ya.  
><em>  
>The voice was warm, deep and masculine and spoke in an accent completely unknown to her. It was exotic and alluring, she could almost smell the spicy scent that must once have clung to the skin of its owner who was clearly not the body on the ground. The presence swirled around inside her mind, flashing images of the vivid and beautiful jungle, the starry night sky and the flowing rivers, and a strong sensation of freedom and endless possibilities washed through Belfrida's consciousness, sharpening her senses and strengthening everything she felt. She wanted to run, to feel the wind in her hair and the smile on her face, but most of all she felt alive for the first time since she was bitten. Her skin tingled, and she took a trembling breath.<br>_  
><em>"What do you want?" she asked, her usually strong voice sounding small and feeble.

_To live._

Belfrida stared at the skull. She had already made up her mind.

She quickly got up and moved to the spot where Osborn was fidgeting with the body. "Don't," she said when the little man retrieved a rusty knife-like engineering tool from a pocket in his leather belt. "I can help you with that."

The gnome started protesting, but she ignored him and sat herself on her knees next to the large body. "What race is this?" she asked, studying the three-fingered hands.

"Troll," Osborn said irritably. "Given you've never seen one before, you might want to leave this to someone who has."

The presence still lingered inside her head, and the male voice hummed: _Don't ya be lettin' da gnome underestimate yer abilities now,_ he said playfully. _Ya be more capable than him._

Belfrida felt warm inside when he spoke to her, proud he had such faith in her. He must have been a lordly creature. She looked at the gnome. "The troll has chosen me."

Osborn looked almost hurt. He sighed. "You'll need these," he said, rummaging through his supplies and handing her a small cloth bag.

Upon opening it, Belfrida found eight strange artefacts. She had never seen anything like them before. _Dey be Tkashi Fetishes,_ the voice explained. _Take ma skull and place it where da head used to be.  
><em>  
>Belfrida obeyed him moved to the cauldron where she carefully lifted the heavy skull up in her arms. She then kneeled down and laid it by the headless neck of the colossal body.<p>

_Now,_ the voice continued. _Eight fetishes: one in each eye, one inside da mouth, one for each hand and foot and one beneath da skin above da heart.  
><em>  
>The woman nodded. The body had already been stripped of its previous inhabitant's choice of armor and was only clad in a brown loincloth. Belfrida gently placed the fetishes in their appointed sockets, carefully parting the jaws of the massive skull to insert one in what was to be the mouth. She turned the large palms of the body upwards and laid an artefact on each of them, and she then placed one by each two-toed foot, supporting them against the soles.<p>

"Do you have something cleaner than that?" she asked the gnome, gesturing to the rusty tool he still held in his hand.

Osborn scowled at her. He then retrieved a first aid kit from one of his countless bags and handed her an actual scalpel.

"Thank you," she mumbled and took the sharp instrument.

Many of the other residents in the camp had noticed that something was going on, and some of them were slowly gathering around the scene.

Belfrida ignored them as she let her fingers trail down the cool skin of the dead body, looking for the right place to make the incision.

The presence in her mind seemed to enjoy watching her work. She felt him grin when she brought the scalpel to the left side of the chest, and upon letting the blade cut into the skin he sent a sensation of hot, thrilled excitement through her mind, making her cheeks flush lightly.

When she decided the cut was long enough she took the final fetish and pushed it through the incision until it was no longer visible beneath the skin.

_Now,_ the presence said, sounding like he would be licking his teeth. _Show me what ya can do.  
><em>Belfrida had never worked under conditions like these before, but her healer's instinct told her how she should proceed.

She inserted two left-hand fingers in the incision, placing them on the fetish inside. She then laid her right hand on top of the left, and channeling all the healing energy she could master into her smooth palms she sent it all into the fetish.

Like a shockwave, the energies exploded through the torso of the body and washed down the legs and arms like ripples in the surface of a lake. The fetishes outside began glowing with a wild, golden light, and Belfrida felt the one inside heat and bore itself deeper until it reached the heart. The energy stored in the artefact shot through the organ like lightning, and she could feel a soft, deep thump as the heart came to life and began to send blood flowing through the veins again.

The body began to twitch, and the priestess looked up at the skull. She heard a crack when it attached itself to the vertebrae in the open neck. Nerves, muscles, skin, the entire head was reshaped as everything grew back and assembled, dark reddish eyes replaced the fetishes in the eye sockets and were covered by blue lids, and the tongue pushed out the artefact inside the mouth.

Colour was returning to the body as the skin from its neck crept up and settled across the face, covering the shapes of the nose, lips and long, pointy ears. His features were sharp and cruel, yet very pleasing to the eye, and Belfrida felt the pace of her heartbeat quicken as bright, flaming red hair sprouted from the scalp of the head, forming a flamboyant, elegant mohawk.

"Oh no," she heard Osborn whisper, but she ignored the gnome.

_Yes,_ the voice said triumphantly. _I be ready to return to ma own mind.  
><em>  
>The priestess understood. She carefully removed her fingers from the incision and allowed the skin to close beneath her hands. She then placed her index and middle fingers by the blue temples and closed her eyes. "Now," she whispered.<p>

She immediately felt a wild force surge through her limbs as the presence in her head travelled down her neck and shoulders, using her arms as guidelines to reach the head.

The moment the troll's mind had broken its bond with hers, the world suddenly felt quiet and empty. The rush of blood pounding in Belfrida's ears slowly settled down, and she took a deep breath as she waited.

The troll's eyes moved beneath the still closed lids, and his fingers twitched. The priestess leaned down and put her ear to the bare, light blue chest. His heart was beating calmly, no irregularities at all. Her lips twitched into the shadow of a crooked smile. She was good.

"Like da sound?"

Belfrida gasped and pulled away. His voice was very, very different outside her head. It was the same sound, but the warm edge was gone; it was cold and dangerous.

The troll's eyes were fixed on her, and a cruel grin spread across his face. He slowly sat up, stretching his long, muscular arms and rolling his shoulders to loosen up the bones he had been given.

Suddenly he was on his feet, a rapid movement Belfrida was completely unprepared for, and she quickly backed away from him, watching his every move with caution.

Osborn whimpered. "This is bad, really, _really_bad."

"What is?" Belfrida hissed through the corner of her mouth, not taking her eyes off the troll before her.

"Ya be surprisingly ignorant for someone so skilled," the troll said lazily, running a large finger down his right tusk.

The next moment he was right in front of her, his limbs moving with an almost reptilian sharpness as he closed in on her with a predatory grin, forcing the priestess up against the wagon behind her. "I be Bloodlord Mandokir."

Common sense told her to keep her mouth shut. But Gilnean pride was not to be trifled with. "Well, _Bloodlord,_I do believe a 'thank you' is in place, seeing that I just gave you your life back," Belfrida said, her left brow defiantly raised to match the well-known arrogance that dripped from her words.

Mandokir's eyes widened, and a predatory smile spread across his face as he began to laugh. The next moment he had grasped the priestess by the collar of her ivory blouse and lifted her up, her feet dangling in the air as she writhed to get away from him. "Say dat again, will ya?" The troll licked his teeth and studied her face.

"Put. Me. Down," Belfrida hissed through gritted teeth. She felt the beast stirring inside her, but _no!_she must not let it out.

"Now, why would I do dat?" Mandokir raised his other hand and placed a thick finger under her chin, forcing her head up.

His dominance was unbearable, the bloodlust was already surging through her body, her limbs trembling from the intensity of the urge to let it happen, release her curse and rip out the horrid creature's throat that very instant.

Belfrida's right hand shot up and locked around the troll's wrist, her fingers already transforming into long, razor sharp claws that pierced the skin and let the new blood drip ruby trails down the priestess' arm.

"What have we here," Mandokir said, his shining eyes narrowing.

Belfrida did not listen. Black, bristly fur was sprouting from her skin as her hand grew and buried its claws deeper in the troll's flesh, her teeth elongating into shining, white canines. The sight of his blood, the scent…

"No, no!" she exclaimed, her voice shrill and hoarse.

It took all her strength to suppress it. But slowly she felt the transformation wear off. She was exhausted, and she could do nothing but let her body go completely limp, vulnerable and exposed as she was.

"Somethin' tells me ya haven't exceeded yer use just yet," Mandokir said, a dark smile playing on his blue lips.

* * *

><p>My sympathies to the poor girl; she has no manner of luck at all. Even if it is my own doing, I do pity her a little bit.<br>Enter Bloodlord Mandokir; that old fellow has had a special place in my heart since vanilla days, and I for one was absolutely thrilled when I got to resurrect him again!  
>I wish I could say the same for Belfrida, though.<p> 


	6. The Voyage

**The Voyage**

She wished for death to come swiftly and take her away from this cruel world. She wished that horrid creature would decide she was no longer of use to him and end her misery for good.

Her dark skin was bruised and battered, countless cuts covered her once so perfectly smooth body. She felt filthy, and not only on the outside, for there was no part of her that he had not abused.

Belfrida had lost track of the days. The heavy treetops blocked out most of the sunlight, creating a constant feel of late afternoon in the old ruins. She slept whenever Mandokir left her to herself, uncomfortably coiled up against the back of the heavy bamboo cage. She often woke in the middle of the night, and only then was she able to tell what time of day it was.

The troll did not speak to her in an understandable tongue any longer. After he had brought her back to whatever enormous ruins they were currently inhabiting, he had used her to get the bones of his old raptor companion up and running. Belfrida had aided him, hoping he would take pity on her and set her free, but as she had subconsciously suspected that had not been the case.

He did not seem to care that she did not understand a word he said. In fact, she sometimes suspected him of taking great pleasure in knowing she would never know what his next move would be. All she knew was that he wanted her to transform. He had asked her directly before he had stopped talking to her if she was able to control it, and he had promised her a special place in whatever he was trying to rebuild if she would become his personal _pet.  
><em>  
>Belfrida's pride had kept her from even telling him she would try. She despised the enormous male. She had known he was dangerous, but she had refused to let her face show that she was afraid of him. Perhaps things would have been easier had she only given in to his desire.<p>

As it were now, he had put her through numerous painful experiments to push her to that very limit that would release the curse, but Belfrida had resisted everything he did to her. But she knew it was only a matter of time before her body was unable to take the constant pressure he put on her. But the worst part was that Mandokir appeared to not as much keep her there to bring out the wolf in her as he held her captive for his own sick amusement.

She had stopped screaming when he molested her. Not a single sound escaped her swollen lips when he slammed her up against the rough walls and had his way with her. The first many times she had fainted from the sheer agony he caused her when he forced her legs apart and rammed his full length into her; he was far too big for her, every bit of him was incompatible with her size.

Perhaps he would have stopped, were it not for that fatal day the pain had almost released the curse and her newfound brute strength had pushed him back in a single moment of unawareness. Before she regained control of herself she had ripped four deep gashes in his chest, but her mind had taken over, desperately fighting back the beast to keep Mandokir from getting what he wanted.

She had ended in a cramped position on the ground, blood on her hands and between her legs from the cracks he had made when he forced his way into her. Before she had passed out she had managed to look up at him. The troll had raised a hand to run a thick finger along the bleeding wounds in his skin. And then he had laughed. It had been too much to bear.

Belfrida opened her eyes and listened closely. Had she heard footsteps somewhere close by? She could not tell.

A low, dark laughter echoed through the ruins. So he was there. And all she could do was wait.  
>It did not take long before he was upon her, tearing apart the vines that held the bamboo cage closed. His fingers locked around her upper arm, and a dark bruise instantly began to form under his grasp.<p>

As he threw her down on the ground and forced her on all fours, Belfrida was not even able to focus on anything. She simply kept an indifferent face as he penetrated her once again, destroying every sense of self-respect the priestess had left.

He was her personal nightmare.

* * *

><p>The men and women of the crew aboard the mercenary vessel were used to the feel of the ship moving with the waves. One could see it in their eyes; they loved the sea and looked at home with the wind in their hair and sea spray on their tanned faces. But the other passengers, namely the enlisted men and women chosen for the expedition for their skills in combat and not their experience with sailing did not take too well to life at sea. Dorissa had a hard time keeping herself from laughing every time one of the seemingly tough adventurers ran to the bulwark and let their breakfast empty into the deep ocean.<p>

When Dorissa had arrived in Stormwind City she had left her vicious proto-drake in the displeased hands of a stable keeper and installed herself at the Blue Recluse in the Mage Quarter, and the next morning she had boarded the vessel in bright sunlight and with a much lighter attitude than she had had upon leaving Moonglen Village.

It was now the fourth day of the voyage, and the weather conditions had changed remarkably. A storm was coming, and the sea was rough on the ship. Heavy clouds were assembling above them, and not a single ray of sunlight could penetrate the blackness that made it impossible to tell that it was only midday.

Dorissa sat on the wooden steps that led from the quarter deck down to the main deck and watched the seasoned sailors work. There was no warmth in the air, but their duties were physically straining, and most of them were wiping sweat from their brows as they went about their daily chores.

The able-bodied heroes and heroines who were not suffering from the persistent seasickness that had its grip on a great percentage of the passengers were restless. Some of them simply sat about, obnoxiously tapping the wooden railing with impatient fingers, some wandered like entrapped beasts from one end of the deck to the other, swinging their swords with withheld agitation. The bloodlust was building in their eyes; battling the Horde was their biggest passion. Patience was not a virtue they were familiar with.

Dorissa herself had had a hard time adjusting to the fact that Horde was something that needed to be extinguished. She had not shared that particular point of view on board of the mercenary vessel because she expected the crewmen to transform into vicious, plank-fond pirates should they learn of her opinions in that matter.

Her time with the Sapphire Darkling had, if possible, made her even more open-minded to the concept of living side by side with the opposing faction, and she was in no way happy with having to cut them down to secure land in the name of a cause she had no connection to.

But personal diplomacy did not put food on the table and clothes on her body, and even though she knew Zaladin could easily have taken on the role of a fulltime provider, Dorissa was also certain of the fact that she would come down with cabin fever should she have to last three days as a stay-at-home 'wife', in lack of a better word for her relationship with the death knight. No, she was in her right element when there was blood to be shed.

She had spent the last two days simply sitting on the steps, watching the other passengers and crewmen go about their personal business. Once in a while she listened in on their conversations, but her ears had yet to catch anything of interest. All in all, it was quite the tedious trip.

She then became aware of something she had discovered was a seldom noise aboard the ship: the sound of laughter. Dorissa scanned the deck for the source, and her eyes spotted a little group of sailors on the far end of the deck.

Most of them appeared to be listening to the ravings of a brown-haired man who was sitting on a large barrel facing the others. Some were standing around him, some were sitting on the deck, and the gathering formed an almost full circle on the port side of the deck.

Listening closely, Dorissa discovered that they appeared to be having a sort of quiz to keep each other entertained through the long hours.

"Suppose the ship sinks and we're stranded on some desert island in the middle of nowhere. Who and what would you rescue and why?" the brown-haired man asked the others.

The men around him scratched their stubble and tried to come up with something, but their imaginations failed them miserably.

"Swords, pistols and rum," a little man with an impressively large nose said quickly, making the others laugh and applaud.

"What exactly would you use all the weapons for?" the only woman present said with a raised brow.  
>"Are you daft? Hunting, of course," the nose replied irritably, seemingly displeased with the fact that women had a say-so aboard ships nowadays.<p>

"Honey," the slightly androgynous woman said, running a hand through her short, tousled hair, "_desert_ island sort of implies that the place is empty, abandoned, godforsaken, uncivilised. Try again."

"Maybe just one pistol then," the man grunted.

"Smithy here'll only need one bullet anyway with that level of brain activity," the brown-haired man said and gave the nose whose name was Smith a brotherly smack on his wide back. "What you're not considering," he said knowingly and tapped his nose with an index finger, "is that you might need to start up a new life there. So the first thing I'd do is find myself a woman!" he finished triumphantly, and the others agreed.

"I'm so flattered," the short-haired woman said sarcastically. "So we're only good for reproduction, is that what you're saying?"

"That, my dear Gwenn, is exactly what I'm saying," the man said with a grin. "I highly doubt you can find me a woman aboard this ship who'd be a better survivor than any of us," he said cockily.

"Challenge accepted," Gwenn said. She stood up and looked around the deck with narrow eyes. She caught Dorissa's amused gaze. "Hey you, come over here for a second?" the crude-looking woman suggested, and the half-elf got up and joined the group.

The brown-haired man let out a loud guffaw. "That? You're kidding, right? Look at her!"

"Now now," Dorissa said with a crooked smile, "not all books are to be judged by their covers."

"Just because you're one of the only women who hasn't vomited yet doesn't mean you're tougher than any of us, doll," Smith pointed out.

"Right you are. But I would like to see you name another person on this ship who can do this," Dorissa said playfully. She turned her head to the side and pulled her silvery hair away from her neck.

Outbursts of surprise and slight disgust were heard when her skin split in five horizontal lines, forming a set of blood red gills on the half-elf's neck. She held up a hand, showing the webbed skin that connected her fingers.

"Sooo," Gwenn laughed, "you can actually survive under water?"

"That I can," Dorissa said with a wide grin and let the deep gaps in her skin close to be able to breathe again. "I'd show you what my feet would look like, but it would be fairly difficult for me to stand upright if I let them shift, too."

"There you go. You wouldn't want to wind up on a desert island without her," the woman said.

"What the hell are you?" Smith asked with a scowl. "You're not supposed to be able to do something like that."

"You've never seen a druid before, I take it."

"Oh, I've seen druids. Never seen one do that."

"Well, that must mean I'm pretty special then," Dorissa said innocently.

"Okay," the brown-haired man said, recovering his composure. "So you can breathe under water, big deal. What else can you do that justifies you being tougher than us?" he asked, seemingly pretending not to be impressed.

"Oh, come on!" Gwenn exclaimed with an irritated toss of her head.

"I'm actually pretty interested. What else _can_ you do?" a blond man said with a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

"Well…" Visual proof seemed to be the only way to satisfy these men, so Dorissa simply let her wings sprout from her back, the shedding feathers dripping from her shape. Her bones were light, but her talons were treacherously strong compared to those of a normal stormcrow. With lightning speed she grasped the brown-haired man by his upper arms and took off from the deck, carrying the squealing man beneath her like a bird of prey bringing home today's catch to her hungry hatchlings.

She made a few loops and spins around the foremast, but the force of the wind was increasing rapidly, so she quickly soared down and placed the terrified man on his feet, resulting in his wobbly knees giving in, making him fall clumsily on his bottom. The others' faces were red with laughter, and the blond man held up two thumbs with a pleased smirk. Dorissa bowed gracefully and joined the group again, her wings and talons growing back as quickly as she had brought them forth.

"So that's got fishing, escaping and humiliation of unpleasant people covered," the blond said. "Now, say the island was inhabited by… angry territorial gorillas. How'd you handle that?"

"Let's see… First I believe I would try to avoid being detected by them," Dorissa said, pretentiously thoughtful. She dropped to all fours, her bones cracking as her arms elongated to match the length of her now feline legs. Fur covered her body, her nose sharpened and a long white tail materialised, extending from her tailbone. She grinned, flashing her sharp canines, and without so much as the sound of a claw scraping against the wooden deck she slipped into the shadows and vanished.

"Okay, I'll hand it to you, that's pretty good," the blond said after a few minutes of failing to spot the feline shape. "What if they found you then?"

"Then…" Dorissa's voice came from the railing behind the man, and he spun around with a surprised face. The half-elf sat on the bulwark with a catty smile on her sharp face. She stood up, and the silvery fur dropped from her body and was taken away by the wind, and her tail grew backwards and disappeared.

Her features returned to their normal softness, but antlers broke through her scalp and rose in elegant twists, and feathers sprouted from her arms. The backs of her hands and her arms were still covered in fur that blended in with the feathers, and her nails still had a slight claw-like shape about them.

Dorissa stepped down on the deck and raised her hands that were now glowing with the like of a bright star, the edges tinted lavender purple. "They wouldn't get anywhere near me," she finished sweetly.

"Well," the blond said, "I reckon she deserves a round of applause for that little show. Quite entertaining, I must say."

Minus Smith and the brown-haired man whose face was all but pleased, the others laughed and clapped, and Dorissa bowed theatrically.

"What's going on over there?" Gwenn suddenly said, looking to the starboard side.

The laughter quieted down, and they all listened.

Some of the sailors had gathered by the bulwark and were leaning out to see what was happening; Dorissa caught the word 'shipwreck' from the lips of one of the crewmen, and the moonkin features dissolved as she quickly shifted back into her normal form to join the crowd and see for herself what was going on. A raindrop landed on her cheek as she took in the scenery before her.

She was able to glimpse the shape of a Horde mercenary ship approaching in the distance. But that was not what had caught the attention of the crew; before them were the remnants of one of their own ships, the debris scattered about the area far and wide.

The ship itself was still visible, upside down, barely breaching the surface of the rebellious sea.

"Survivors – men overboard!" one of the women shouted somewhere to Dorissa's right side. She was right; a few unfortunate souls were clinging desperately to the upturned keel of the ship, one of them seemingly trying to communicate something to the sailors, but as the rain started falling and the treacherous weather conditions worsened, the man's words were carried away by the wind.

But words were not needed, as his face brought across the message without difficulty: the waters were not safe.

Some of the adventurers were about to lower a rope down to the survivors on the sunken ship when suddenly their own vessel was abruptly halted by an unknown force from below, sending many of the passengers into a rough fall on their knees; Dorissa was nearly thrown over the edge of the rail, but she managed to cling on along with the others.

"What in Azeroth was that?" one of the crewmen whispered wide-eyed.

No one moved, and above the sound of the storm Dorissa heard and felt the ship groan beneath their feet as if being held against its will by something incredibly strong.

"This can't be good," she heard Gwenn say quietly.

Suddenly, the ship was pulled down towards the waves from the starboard side, and the people who had assembled by the bulwark ran towards the port side under loud outbursts of surprise and fear, quickly joined by the remainder of the passengers and sailors. Dorissa stopped halfway and grasped the mainmast to avoid sliding down towards the starboard side again. She looked up at the port side and gasped. "Behind you!" she shouted.

The crew had gathered with their backs towards the railing, cautiously watching the starboard side below them; a fatal mistake. Behind them, enormous tentacles were rising from the ocean, their murky brown skin glistening in the falling rain.

"Kraken!"

The tentacles were moving in on the crew, and Dorissa made a quick decision and raised her hands to hurl a glowing Starsurge at the closest tentacle, forcing it to retreat from the screaming woman it was closing in on. As it drew back, a tremendous rumble echoed through the lower decks, making the ship shake beneath their feet.

The agonizing sound of screams from the cannon deck ripped through the air, and Dorissa could hear the cannoneers desperately trying to fight back the tentacles below.

Many of the sailors and passengers had recollected their composure and were gathering their weapons and handing out spare pistols and swords to anyone within reach. The rain and sea spray had made the deck treacherously slippery, and it was with difficulty that the crew began to battle the enormous monster that held the ship in its eight-armed grasp below the ocean surface.

Dorissa had made it to the stairs that led to the quarter deck. The helmsman had realised that there was not actually anything he could do to steer the ship away from the kraken and had abandoned his post to fire his rifle at the tentacles from his new position beside the mizzenmast.

Crawling along the deck to avoid being hit by the rain of bullets he sent at their attacker, Dorissa hauled herself up with a hand on the rail. She managed to balance atop the bulwark on the port side, and when she found her feet securely positioned she began letting her spells hail down towards the amassing tentacles. She concentrated all the power she could master in every tainted spell she flung at the kraken, and she knew her abilities would have been lethal to any other enemy, but they were useless against the beast; it was too strong. The tentacles she hit retreated for a few seconds, but the slippery skin somehow reflected most of the damage she would have dealt, and she had to dodge her own offensive moves being flicked back at her several times.

"Run!" she heard someone on the main deck scream, and when she looked down she saw one of the tremendous tentacles coil itself around the foremast and break it like a mere twig. The mast fell to the starboard side, and the sailors ran for their lives, but many of them were taken along by the tangled ropes and sails that were dragged across the deck.

She felt the ship groan again beneath her feet, and suddenly the unnerving sound of splintering wood filled the air; the kraken was tearing the ship apart from below.

Dorissa did not manage to take hold of anything before it was too late. A single lightning lit up the scene followed by the roar of thunder as the vessel broke in half. The water rushed in through the opening between the two halves, and in the maelstrom-like gap the enormous beak of the kraken revealed itself, opening to consume the ill-starred souls of the crewmen in its never-ending maw beneath the raging sea.

Unprepared for the pull of the massive strength of the kraken, Dorissa lost foothold and was tossed through the air, barely managing to grab hold of the railing above the open beak. Clinging to the wet wood with both hands, she looked down, seeing to her regret the friendly blond sailor land in the water beside the beak, his left leg caught between the upper and lower beaks the very second the kraken closed them like scissors just above his knee. She knew there was nothing she could do to help him.

Her arms were hurting from the strain of bearing her weight, and Dorissa knew it was time to get away; the ship and everybody aboard it was lost. She looked up at the tentacles closing around the sinking ship. One of them was only a few meters away from her.

She made a quick decision and gathered all her strength when she pulled her legs up to kick off from the railing in a long leap. She turned in the air and landed on the nearest tentacle, steadying herself atop the slippery skin.

The kraken was not pleased with finding a passenger aboard one of its limbs, but that was exactly what Dorissa had hoped for.

The sea monster pulled its tentacle down towards the sea like a catapult, and with all its strength it tossed the half-elf off into the raging wind.

The second she was free, Dorissa let her wings sprout from her back and held them close to her body until she felt her figure losing altitude. She then unfolded them and put everything she had into the flight, desperately fighting the incredible force of the wind. Her hair was whipped into her face, making it almost impossible for her to see where she was actually going. She had to rely on her inner compass to navigate through the storm, and that itself proved to be incredibly challenging.

With great difficulty Dorissa took a deep breath and readied herself for one of the hardest journeys she had ever made. 

* * *

><p>The heat was almost unbearable. She felt soft sand against her left cheek, and when she ran her tongue over her dry lips to moisten them, she caught a couple of grains on the tip of her tongue, involuntarily crunching them between her teeth. She heard the rush of the ocean somewhere behind her, and a soft wave washed over her feet and ankles.<p>

She had almost no recollection of what had happened. The sun was baking on the back of her head, and her brain felt lazy and slow when she tried to remember.

_Ship sunk… kraken… storm._ Blurry images flashed through Dorissa's mind. She recalled taking off from the ship. She had flown. For how long? Minutes, hours days? She had no idea. All she was certain of was that just before her body gave in to her exhaustion and she crashed beneath the tumultuous waves she had managed let her gills break the skin on her neck to avoid drowning, should she lose consciousness in the water. Logic told her she must have. But where was she now?

She carefully tried to move her body. Her fingers twitched, and her right arm shivered lightly, but she was completely drained and unable to get up.

Her body trembled unintentionally, and she became aware of the presence of her wings on her back; the feathers rustled quietly in the soft breeze that came her way. She must have been too exhausted to get rid of them before she fell into the sea.

Dorissa carefully tried to lift one of them to shield her head from the heat of the sun, but she had no strength left at all. The wing merely flapped pathetically once and remained as it was, flat against her body.

_"Ohoho, what be dis now?"_

Dorissa gasped and opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by the whiteness of the sand before her. When her eyes became accustomed to the light she was able to make out the shapes of palm trees three or four meters away. Between them she spotted a figure. She could make out no details, but she was certain that the speaker was a troll; he had spoken in Zandali, and when he approached he moved with the forward-slumped predatory prowl that was so characteristic for his race. _So I'm in Stranglethorn Vale. But… How the hell did I get here?_

The troll had reached the sand and was alarmingly close to her. She could hear him humming off-key as he approached with cautious, edgy movements.

_"Now now now,"_ he said with wonder in his slightly shrill voice, _"Zanzil never seen anythin' like dis before,"_ he mused.

_Zanzil… Zanzil the Outcast. Really?_ Dorissa groaned. This was getting better and better. Here she was on the shores of a hostile jungle, and she had practically landed in the arms of a complete and utter madman. _Brilliant.  
><em>  
><em>"Wings of bird, but body of elf girl,"<em> the troll rambled on. He squatted down next to her and reached out to run his thick fingers through the ruffled white feathers, but before he could grasp hold of the actual wing Dorissa decided to let the growths dissolve between the troll's fingers. Her eyes were fixed on his face, watching his every move.

Zanzil let out a little squeal of surprise and clapped his hands. _"Zanzil gonna take reeeaaal good care of ya, little bird girl!"_

And with that the troll retrieved a primitive syringe with an awl-like needle from a skin pouch in his belt, and before Dorissa could even consider attempting to protest he had removed the cap from its tip and jammed it into her right shoulder.

The sudden pain made the half-elf suck in a breath of hot air and sand, but before long the unknown contents of the syringe began to affect her mind and body. She felt drowsy and lightheaded, and without much of a struggle she drifted off into the soft blackness that enveloped her. 

* * *

><p>I trust you can see where this is going.<br>Also, I must apologise for this chapter not being posted yesterday, but the explanation is so simple I can tell you with only one word: tequila.


	7. Missing

**Missing  
><strong>

Morning in Mount Hyjal was an eerily beautiful sight; the crown of Nordrassil blocked the view of the blue sky almost completely, but here and there thin, dusty sunbeams found their way through the never-ending green above and shone upon the ground below. Little patches of glittering light appeared on the crystal clear lake by the roots of the world tree, and a symphony of humming insects and chirping birds filled the sweet, fragrant air; an idyllic scenery that was appreciated and admired by all but one notorious character beneath the heavy branches.

Zaladin had spent every minute since his arrival in Hyjal organising battalions and filling out forms for every single enlisted adventurer arriving at Nordrassil. It was a complete and utter waste of his capabilities. The death knight was dreadfully bored; he was a weapon, nothing more, nothing less. His skills with a pen had little on those with a blade, even if the aforementioned were flawless.

Thankfully, it was the morning of the seventh day, and battle was only hours away. In not too long he would at last be used in the way he had always been intended.

Unless, of course, the sheer, excruciating lack of intelligence of the orcs passing in and out of the reach of his sword every minute brought him to a level of irritation so great he would be jailed for murdering random individuals within the parameter.

At the time, there was nothing left for him to take care of, and not having anything to draw his attention from the constant quarrelling of the green-skinned halfwits around him was getting the better of him.

"Quit your attitude, will you? In a few hours we'll be smacking the Twilight's Hammer senseless!" one of the orcs said, excitedly swinging his axe at an imaginary opponent.

"I know. But I don't like these tree-hugger elves one bit. And _humans_ everywhere, urgh" the tallest orc grumbled while tightening the straps on his bracers. "I wish I'd been assigned to the other section. You know, the ones who were going to that 'new island' or whatever off the coast of the Eastern Kingdoms."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you're glad you're here when you hear what happened," a third orc chimed in, knowingly raising his fat index finger at the others.

Zaladin's brow furrowed, and he turned his head in their direction.

"Bullshit. You don't know anything about that, you're just making it up to sound like you know things," the tall one said condescendingly.

"Am not!"

"Won't you just tell us what you've heard?" the first orc asked, forcing politeness into his tone.

"I'm not sure I want to now," the offended orc said defiantly.

Zaladin rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. _Surrounded by imbeciles yet again._ The three orcs looked up at him, seemingly first noticing then that they were not the only ones within earshot.

"If you would perhaps end your pointless bickering we could all hear what it is he has to say about the other section," the death knight said as patiently as he could master.

"I'd have thought someone like you would have known?" the orc with the insight said, but the look Zaladin sent him had him hastily moving on to the story. "The uh, the ships went down on the fourth day after they sailed. A couple of sailors were found by wyvern riders near Westfall. They were near death, but they managed to tell the riders that both the Horde and Alliance ships were sunk by what appeared to be a kraken before anyone could open fire."

"Is that so."

"Yeah. After returning the injured sailors to Orgrimmar, the riders gathered a search party and headed back to sea to search the area where the ships would supposedly have sunk. They found a bit of wreckage floating on the surface, but there was not a single soul in sight. The crews must have drowned. Or maybe they were eaten by sharks or the monster that sunk the ships. No one knows yet."

Zaladin looked at the orc. He did not appear to be making things up, he was simply conveying what he had heard. _Dorissa…  
><em>  
>The death knight nodded once at the orc. He gathered his belongings, strapped his sword onto his back, and then he turned and marched towards the portal to Orgrimmar.<p>

"Hey, wait a minute, weren't you the one supposed to be leading our team?"

"I am positive you will do an excellent job without my guidance," Zaladin said over his shoulder, the sarcasm in his voice barely noticeable as he stepped through the glowing portal and vanished.

Reappearing in busy Orgrimmar a few seconds later, Zaladin shielded his pale face against the dry heat of the afternoon sun and retrieved his bone flute from the inside pocket of his heavy cloak. He brought it to his lips and blew once, scanning the horizon and hoping he had not arrived too late. He was not in for a long wait.

The roar of the enormous frostwyrm was quickly heard above the confused outbursts from its handlers; it had not yet been sent to Mount Hyjal, but he appeared to have arrived in the nick of time. Zaladin turned in the direction of the noises and spotted the group on the opposing plateau near the wind riders. The handlers were desperately trying to restrain the frostwyrm from taking off, but it was an uneven fight.

The frostwyrm unfolded its massive wings, and with a single stroke the handlers fell like matchstick figures and lost control of the ropes that held the creature down. The frostwyrm leapt into the air and soared across the gap between the two plateaus to land before its master. Zaladin quickly climbed the saddle and grasped the reins, ignoring the protesting and angered handlers shouting curses at him.

The frostwyrm took off, and the death knight steered it towards the Valley of Strength. A few moments later, they landed in front of Grommash Hold. Zaladin descended the saddle, and, having ordered his mount to stay, he strode into the Hold, not bothering to answer the guards asking if he had an audience with the warchief.

When he reached the throne he stopped and forced himself to bow to Garrosh Hellscream whose face turned from dreadfully bored to irritated at the sight of the death knight.

"Zaladin Grimtusk, your orders were clear. Why are you not in Hyjal?"

"I am quite convinced you have others among the ranks who meet the requirements to lead the battalion in Hyjal. I am here because I want a tracker."

"And whatever has made you assume I would oblige to such a request?"

"I have made no assumptions."

Garrosh stood up, his enormous figure towering above the death knight. "I am _not_ Thrall. I am very aware that the old warchief let you get away with anything you wanted because he considered you irreplaceable. But let me make something very clear to you, Zaladin _Grimtusk_," he spat and leaned closer, his snarling face inches away from Zaladin's. "No one is irreplaceable. Especially not provocative trolls."

"I am beginning to fully understand why Vol'jin took his leave," Zaladin said, cocking an eyebrow and demonstratively wrinkling his nose at the smell of the orc's breath. "And you cannot induce fear in the dead, _warchief_."

Half a second later, the death knight felt the cold edge of Gorehowl pressed into the skin of his neck. "Watch your foul tongue, Darkspear. I will hold your precious leader accountable for every word you say."

"I am not of the Darkspear. You can hold no authority responsible for anything I do, for I am of no one, of nothing," Zaladin said calmly, noting that he would have to see a healer about the deep gash the warchief's axe was slowly carving in his neck. He fixated the orc's eyes with his. "You have no power over me."

"Scum," Garrosh growled, removing Gorehowl with an ungentle twist of its handle that deepened the cut in the troll's skin. "Zaladin Grimtusk, I banish you from Orgrimmar on the penalty of death. Get out of my sight."

Zaladin smirked joylessly. This was a slight inconvenience, but he was not capable of finding it in his heart to care. "As you wish, _Garrosh_." And with that he turned and strode out of Grommash Hold.

* * *

><p>The grace of the afternoon sun painted the Stormwind Habor, orange-golden beams glimmering on the water and on every surface in sight.<p>

The heavy traffic of merchant vessels passing in and out of the area was slowly beginning to cease, and at that very moment there were only two ships being loaded, each on their own side of the harbour.

The dock master had been spending most of his day playing cards with a group of sailors on their last day of leave, but they had all returned to their respective vessels now, and the dock master found himself almost completely alone. Not that he minded; it was nice being able to simply sit back and relax on a large crate on the docks, feet up on an old barrel of unknown origins and a full pipe bobbing up and down in the right corner of his mouth. Nothing was going to disturb him now, and he planned on taking a long nap in the last sunshine of the day, his hat comfortably nestled on his face and little puffs of smoke surrounding his resting figure.

"Good afternoon, dock master."

The man all but fell off his crate from surprise; there was something utterly amiss with the voice of the unknown speaker. He quickly pulled his floppy hat away from his eyes and stared up at the character that stood before him. The dock master swallowed hard, and with a trembling hand he began to reach for the thin rope of the alarm bell that hung next to him.

"The side effects to ringing that bell include internal bleeding, loss of limbs and sudden death; do you wish to proceed?" Zaladin said lazily, fixating the unlucky man with his icy blue gaze.

The dock master's arm froze halfway, and he risked a glance to the right and left, but there was no one there he could call for help, and a few seconds later he lowered his arm.

"I thought not. Now," the death knight continued, silently moving closer to the human while unsheathing his enormous sword, "I believe you possess the knowledge I seek," he finished, resting his blade against the man's strong neck.

"What are you talking about?"

"I have been informed that the Alliance ships that sailed from Stormwind City approximately a week ago were sunk by a kraken somewhere off the Eastern Kingdoms. Is that correct?"

The dock master nodded stiffly.

"I want you to tell me if anyone has made it back to the city; anyone at all."

"I don't know anything about that." The man sounded fairly convincing, but the throbbing vein in his neck gave his lie away.

"I am going to grant you the chance to rethink that answer," Zaladin said, a hiss playing on the last syllable. He ran his blade along the human's neck, the edge drawing blood that trickled down his skin. "Has _anyone_ returned?"

The man scowled. "One. He died from his injuries yesterday."

_He. Good._ "That was not so hard now, was it." The death knight withdrew his sword and nonchalantly wiped it on the human's hat. "I bid you farewell. And on a side note, should you still be itching to ring that bell, you will wait until I am out of sight. If you fail to do so, I solemnly promise that I will return to claim your head." And with that he turned around and walked away. 

* * *

><p>Dorissa's head was spinning, a pounding headache slowly building in the very center of her skull. The heavy aromas around her were not helping; the dark scents of velvety flowers and flourishing ferns filled the air, and birds were chirping somewhere far above her, their light, carefree voices like needles in her brain.<p>

She had no desire to open her eyes. She was fairly comfortable as she was, lying there on the soft ground, and she knew that any sense of daylight would only increase the pounding in her head. But she had to know idea where she was, and it was not an option to ignore the unknown world around her and return to the peaceful land of sleep.

Ever so slowly she opened her eyes.

She was lying in an almost fetal position on her right side, and before her were the thick bamboo bars of the cage she appeared to be trapped inside. On the other side of the bars were the flowers she could smell, some of them so close she could reach out and catch the dewdrops that clung to their soft petals.

Behind the many colourful growths she spotted a long table full of strange devices and many oddities she had never seen before, but the design was familiar; they were made by troll hands.  
>With a furrowing brow, Dorissa slowly pushed herself up to a half-sitting position, but the movement revealed a sharp pain in her left ankle. She huffed and carefully leaned forward to examine her injury: the joint was very swollen and appeared fractured.<p>

She sighed and let her gaze wander over her surroundings. The old stone walls were suspiciously familiar, and upon scanning the grounds for the second time she recognised the beginnings of the path that led out of the area where her cage was located and into the heart of the ruins: she was trapped in the crumbling remains of Zul'Gurub. _Oh, for heaven's sake._

With a clenched jaw and a mind determined to ignore her injury, she shifted to lying on her back and began to kick at the bars of her prison with her right foot, hoping to break either them or the vines that held the door closed. She did not care if the sound would attract her captors, whoever they were.

"You can do that forever; the bars are never going to move."

Startled, Dorissa stopped and looked to her left. How she had missed that she was not alone she could not say.

Next to her cage was another of the exact same proportions as the one that was currently inhabited by her. Inside sat a woman leaned against the back of her cage, her face turned away from Dorissa. Her skin was a dark, smooth chocolate, and her hair hung in a waist-long black braid, tousled and dull from many days without a proper washing. Her clothes, or what was left of them, were covered in dirt and dried blood; once creased ivory bloomers and sleeveless silken blouse, now filthy rags that exposed all too much of the woman's dark body beneath. On her right ring finger sat a simple gold wedding ring that had suffered much, the surface covered in dirty scratches and what looked to be brown bloodstains.

"How long has it been since I was taken here?" Dorissa asked, carefully sitting up to avoid triggering the pain in her ankle; she was unsuccessful and winced at the heavy throbbing sensation that shot through her leg.

"Three, perhaps four hours. Time is hard to keep track of in this place." The woman turned her head and looked at Dorissa with an indifferent expression on her exotic face. Her almond-shaped, forest green eyes looked dead, as if the flame of life had been extinguished within them long ago.

She glanced at Dorissa's swollen ankle. "I can fix that for you if you like."

The half-elf nodded and turned to stretch her leg as gently as she could, passing her foot through a gap between the bars.

The human in the other cage reached out and placed her slender right hand on Dorissa's ankle. A warm, comfortable sensation immediately flushed through the joint, repairing the fractures inside and relieving her of both the swelling and the stabbing pain.

"Thank you," Dorissa said softly, bending and stretching her ankle and foot and finding that everything was in order. "You are a priestess?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough."

"What is your name?"

The other woman sighed. "Belfrida Hale," she said, introducing herself with what was the most unfitting first name Dorissa could imagine. "And you?"

"Dorissa. Dorissa the Enslaver."

"Fancy," Belfrida said, the sarcasm lost in the complete numbness of her voice. "Where I come from we find surnames sufficient."

Normally she would never have let a complete stranger talk down to her in any way, but something about the utter lack of emotion in the other woman's voice changed Dorissa's mind; it seemed the world had been unkind to her more than once.

She instead glanced down and realised she had been robbed of her belongings. All her clothes, save for her briefs and undershirt were gone, her boots, belt and staff along with them. Even her rings were taken.

She reached up and tapped her neck, delighted to find that the heavy sapphire necklace was still in place, saved from being removed by the gem itself being tangled in her hair. "You wouldn't by any chance know where my effects are?" she asked as she freed it from its nest of tousled, silvery strands.

The priestess raised an arm and pointed towards the corner near the table: "Your staff is there. I can't tell you what they did with your clothes."

Dorissa shifted to be able to see the spot Belfrida had pointed to. She then looked back at the other woman. "They?"

"I don't know the name of the one who mixes all the concoctions. He seems rather unstable and jittery; he was the one who brought you here."

"That would be Zanzil the Outcast."

Belfrida glanced at the other female but made no comment of her knowledge. "The other calls himself Bloodlord Mandokir."

Dorissa stared at the human. "Mandokir? But he died years ago?"

"He's very much alive now."

"That's unfortunate, putting it mildly."

"You can't possibly imagine how unfortunate that is," the priestess muttered.

The half-elf cocked a brow. "So Mandokir, or whoever is in control here," she said, ignoring the other woman's comment, "has taken Zanzil in. I'm guessing that means they're trying to rebuild the empire and are low on resources. I can't see why else they would turn to him."

"Not a word of what you just said made any sense to me at all, Dorissa," Belfrida said flatly.

Dorissa looked at her. "You don't know anything about this place, do you?"

"I know it is the last place in Azeroth I would want to be."

"How long have you been here?"

The priestess' right eye twitched, and there was a bitter draw about her lips when she answered: "I can't say for sure. Perhaps a week, give or take a few days. But it feels like months."

"What have they done to you?" Dorissa asked softly, studying the other woman's face with concern.  
>Belfrida tried for a dark smile, but her lips would not cooperate. "I have no desire to talk of it. You will learn soon enough, I believe."<p>

Dorissa was about to ask another question, but the sound of footsteps caught her ear: someone was approaching on the path outside the grounds. She tensed as the figure rounded the corner.  
>She could not help a feeling of defeat washing over her when she saw his tall figure before her.<p>

Years had passed since that victorious day when she and her allies had taken him down, and the pride of knowing she had taken part in stopping the madness of the Gurubashi.

Now Bloodlord Mandokir stood before her in the flesh once again, tall and alive with a vicious grin spread on his predatory features, his flaming red mohawk swaying lightly with every movement he made. And the only thing Dorissa could do was sit there, silently praying for the troll to have no or too little reminiscence of her face to recall that she was present when he was slain.

His cruel eyes immediately bored into hers, but it was impossible to tell if he recognised her. _"Zanzil!"_ he called, a snarl rolling through his throat.

It did not take long before the sound of frantic running was heard on the path, and moments later Zanzil appeared, a wary look on his face when he stalked closer. He was a tall and well-built troll, but compared to Mandokir's muscular frame he was skin and bones.

"_What be Mandokir wantin' from Zanzil?"_ he grumbled in Zandali.

_"What be dis?"_ Mandokir asked darkly, pointing sharply towards Dorissa's cage.

_"Oh, Mandokir will be happy; de elf girl be very special! When Zanzil found her, wings be growin' from her body!"_ the smaller troll said enthusiastically, clapping his gloved hands.

_"I see,"_ the Bloodlord said, his tone taking on a very dangerous edge that was lost on the excited Zanzil. "_And where be dese wings now?"  
><em>  
><em>"Dey disappeared between Zanzil's fingers, but Zanzil wants to bring dem back, Zanzil be thinkin' de elf girl be veeery useful to Jin'do."<br>_  
>Mandokir sighed, seemingly struggling between wanting to hit Zanzil in his masked face and not losing his last shreds of patience with the rambling troll. "<em>Very well. Remember to feed her."<br>_  
>Dorissa wrinkled her nose at the last comment, but she made no attempt at pointing out that she understood what they said; them not knowing could come in handy at a later time, though she could not yet say how.<p>

Having decided upon ignoring the half-elf's presence for the time being, Mandokir moved in on Belfrida's cage and, retrieving a worn dagger from his belt, cut through the heavy vines that bound the door with the same ease as if he were slicing through warm butter.

Dorissa looked at the woman in the cage and was heartbroken to see the expression of complete and utter defeat on the priestess' face when the enormous troll let the dagger fall to the ground, reached in and hauled her out in the open by her bruised upper arm.

Forced up in a standing position by Mandokir, it was evident that Belfrida had suffered much in captivity, and she was barely able to stand on her own feet, swaying unsteadily from the effort it took her to not fall over. But the troll took no pity on her.

With a sadistic draw on his lips, Mandokir's fingers locked around the woman's long, tousled braid, and as he strode out of the grounds he dragged the exhausted human behind him by her hair like a prisoner sentenced to death.

_What does he want with her?_ Dorissa pondered with a worried frown.

Zanzil did not appear surprised by the other troll's actions; he had seen it before. He did, however, scowl in Mandokir's direction, enough of his eyes visible below the odd mask to leave no doubt that whatever the Bloodlord had in mind it was not of Zanzil's approval. _Not that he has much of a say-so._  
>The former Outcast began humming a disharmonic tune as he turned around and approached Dorissa's cage. <em>"What be da little elfie,"<em> he sang, slowly reaching down to pick up the abandoned dagger and file through the vines on the door.

"Come out, come out," Zanzil said, switching to a fractured Common.

When she hesitated to move, the troll took Dorissa by the wrist and, surprisingly gently, pulled to guide her out of the cage.

Having placed her on her feet, Zanzil proceeded to wander around her in circles, studying her slender frame with a skeptical draw about his lips. He reached out and pulled her shirt away from her shoulder blade, eyes narrowing when he examined the spot where her right wing had once been.

Dorissa had carefully turned her head to watch him, not wanting to turn her back to the fairly unstable troll. She was in no way comfortable around him, standing there in nothing but her underwear, and she longed for the cover of her heavy robes to give her shelter from the troll's scrutinizing eyes.

_"How she be growin' dem wings,"_ he pondered, switching back to Zandali and placing a rough finger on her skin.

It suddenly occurred to her that she was out of the cage and able to fly off at any minute; she was practically free.

Gathering all her strength and readying herself for a hazarded escape, Dorissa attempted to sprout the wings from her body to carry herself to safety.

But something was wrong. She felt her body quiver from the effort, but it was as if an invisible force without a tangible form had settled around her entire frame, rendering her unable to transform.

Confused, Dorissa concentrated on sharpening her senses, sending a mental probe into the air around her. What she found could only be described as an invisible, shapeless layer of voodoo magic that drifted about in the surroundings, covering the area with a heavy blanket that bound her abilities and prevented her from taking flight. _Excellent.  
><em>  
><em>"A little short for an elf,"<em> Zanzil mumbled critically as he pinched the tip of Dorissa's left ear, effectively bringing her out of her state of absent disappointment.

_Is it possible for this day to become more bizarre, I wonder,_ she thought with a silent sigh and a cocked brow as she obeyed the troll's taps on her wrists and raised her arms to let him measure the length from middle finger to middle finger. 

* * *

><p>There we go, Belfrida and Dorissa are joined at last. The circumstances could have been less unfortunate, of course.<br>And this time I am writing from Zaladin's point of view, too. I feel like I am entering a chocolate factory every time I get an excuse to do that, haha.


	8. Haunted

**Haunted**

Dusk had fallen when he knocked twice on Nathaldor and Jillian's door in Moonglen Village. A few seconds later he heard footsteps and muffled voices on the other side of the door, and Jillian opened clad in a silk robe, her black hair in a messy bun. A scent of bed sheets and intimacy struck the death knight's nostrils when the wind from outside pulled at her robe.

"Zaladin!" she said, her eyes widening in surprise. "Weren't you supposed to be in Hyjal by now?" She stepped aside to let him enter.

"I was in Hyjal."

"But..." Jillian frowned and looked up at him. "I can hardly imagine that the new warchief let you leave?"

"He did not," Zaladin said. "He did, however, banish me from the city."

"What? That's awful! What happens if you return?"

"I die."

Jillian looked horrified, but she failed to produce a sentence before Nathaldor: "What brings you here that is so important you would risk both your rank and your life?" he asked from his position at the dining table.

"You have not heard, I presume. Both the Horde and Alliance ships were sunk by a kraken somewhere off the Eastern Kingdoms."

"The ships… Dorissa was on one of those ships!" Jillian screeched, her fingers locking around the fabric of Zaladin's cloak. "We have to do something! I'll fix a summoning to Stormwind City immediately, we have to know if she has returned."

The death knight gently removed her hand and fixed her eyes. "She has not."

The warlock stared at him. "You've already investigated that possibility?"

"Yes. That is why I am here. I need someone to go to Hyjal in my stead while I search for her."

"They've probably already found someone to replace you, Zaladin," Jillian said quietly.

"I am not looking for a replacement. I know Ameltha and Elathem can weave a disguise convincing enough for anybody to pass as me if not given a closer inspection. I need someone who is willing to pose as me in Hyjal, thus ensuring there will be no reason to suspect I have returned to Orgrimmar, which I of course intend to do; I need a tracker for this matter."

"I will do it," Nathaldor said firmly, motioning to get up from his seat.

"That is very noble of you," Zaladin said acidly, "but if you would perhaps focus and forget your own lack of patience for a moment, you would recall that I serve the Horde, Nathaldor. I cannot send you in my place, my superiors are not idiots, at least not when it comes to detecting that a member of the opposing faction is walking amongst them. What you can do, however, is tell me where I may find Krohn."

"I believe he had an errand in Thunder Bluff. He should be back in an hour, maybe two," Jillian said quietly.

"He passes by your hut on his way home. Send him to me when he comes," Zaladin said and turned to leave.

"Zaladin," Nathaldor said, and the death knight stopped, his hand on the door knob. "What if -"

"I _will_ find her," Zaladin cut him off, and then he stepped outside, closing the door a little too hard behind him. He made it down the few steps on the porch before he heard the door being opened quietly again.

"You can wait here if you don't want to be alone." Jillian's voice was like a soft caress on his cold cheek.

He turned towards her and looked at her worried face. "It is not something I want. It is something I must."

"But Zaladin, you can't have much, if any experience at all with the emotions this situation must cause you to feel. Wouldn't you rather have company?"

"I appreciate your concern, Jillian, but I have preparations to make before I depart once more. Good night." He then quickly made his way up the hill to the outskirts of the village where the hut he shared with Dorissa was located.

He had felt it coming since the moment Nathaldor had almost uttered the fatal words, and he barely managed to shut the door behind him and rid himself of the blade on his back before he collapsed in silent, mental agony, his body slamming into the floorboards that groaned beneath his weight.

He had not experienced one of his fits for almost a year, and with time, Dorissa had stopped asking how things were developing. He had never been able to accurately tell her how it felt when he had the fits. It was not that he lacked the vocabulary, but he simply did not know what exactly he experienced during the episodes.

This was different. Since he had been risen, Zaladin had never felt vulnerable, not once. In that very moment, the death knight experienced for the first and only time the fear of death. His mind and entire being felt as if it were attacked by a thousand poisoned poniards, the excruciating pain surging through his body like a raging storm threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

Yet his fear was not directly for his own being; it was tied to Dorissa and her unknown fate, and the fear of the worst had him wish for death to come to him if she had been taken away from this world. There were no active fluids in Zaladin's body, and the death knight was not physically able to shed tears. But he could feel that if he were, he would have; a burning sensation had set his eyes ablaze and was eating its way into the very center of his skull, and in frustrated spasms, the death knight uttered one single, agonized scream that echoed through the woods and caused birds to flee under wild screeches from their nests atop the tall trees.

He could not say for how long he lay there twisting on the wooden floor. When his ears finally stopped ringing and his body relaxed once more, he did not move nor open his eyes until he slowly felt the cold indifference he knew so well wash over his being and calm his tortured mind.

Zaladin slowly got up to a standing position and began removing his heavy plate armour. He took his time, loosening the straps on his arm plates and greaves one by one and unbuckling his breastplate. When he had finished, he brought his belongings into the bedroom and simply piled them in a corner. He then stripped himself of his silken shirt and leather leggings and moved into the bathroom.

The tub in the far right corner of the room had been enchanted to always be full, and the death knight lowered his pale body into the self-cleansing hot water to clear his mind and wash away the memory of his pain.

But upon closing his eyes the memories attached to the room itself flooded his consciousness.

_"Your skin feels so different when it's warm," Dorissa said, softly stroking his hand. "Well, almost warm."_

_"How ?" Zaladin asked, his glowing eyes absorbing every detail of her face through the steam his cold body created when in contact with hot water._

_Through the pallor, her soft cheeks were rosy from the heat of the room where she sat across from him in the tub. Her eyes looked almost feverish behind their light glow, and a single drop of water clung to the black crescent on Dorissa's forehead. "It feels… soft. You're usually so hard."_

_A low, short chuckle played in his throat. "Is that so."_

_"Mhm." She let a finger run along the black scar on his skin where his hand had once been severed from his wrist. Dorissa looked up and realised he was smirking widely at her, and she rolled her eyes and laughed. "You know what I mean!" She then got a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and her right hand slid beneath the surface of the water to support her weight on Zaladin's thigh when she leaned closer to kiss his neck and whisper in Zandali: _"I love you, Zaladin."_ She then pulled away with a grin. "That was right, wasn't it?"_

_"It was perfect," Zaladin said, and his arms wrapped around her small frame to pull her against his hard chest, intoxicated by her dark, floral scent as he breathed her in. His lips twitched lightly at the feeling of his dry salivary glands tickling as if trying to produce fluids; a feeling he had acquainted for the first time a year ago in the Grizzly Hills upon inhaling the scent of the elf's hair. _Mouthwatering.  
><em><br>It was a strange feeling, lust. He was aware of its presence in every little part of his body, like a leftover primal instinct from a life he did not remember. It was a peculiar sort of prickling warmth he knew existed only in his mind, for his limbs were as cold as ice. Yet it was strong, occupying his thoughts and throbbing in his clotted veins, waiting, begging for him to let the Blood Runes run rampant through his body so that he could take her, impale her…_

_He was fast. One moment Dorissa lay contently on Zaladin's chest, the next he had slammed her back against the opposite side of the tub, the hot water clashing onto the floor around them as he caged her with his strong arms and massive tusks. The half-elf's eyes were wide with surprise, and even better: fear._

_But when his flashed red upon activating the runes she realised his intentions, and with hungrily parting lips she willingly spread her quivering thighs to let him in, to let him thrust all but gently and to consume him in her incredible, exceptionally tight, red-hot…  
><em>  
>Zaladin's train of thought was efficiently interrupted by a soft knocking on the front door. He could have screamed. He would have. But he did not.<p>

Stepping out of the tub, the death knight quickly ran a towel over his wet body and put on his leather leggings once more. Shirt in hand, he moved through the rooms to the front door and opened it.

A tired Krohn nodded softly at him and stepped inside, and Zaladin closed the door behind him.  
>"Do you mind if I light the fireplace? The dark is no friend of my eyes like it is of yours," the large tauren said.<p>

"Be my guest," the death knight said while buttoning his shirt and placing himself in a sturdy chair by the fireplace as Krohn lit the fire. A few seconds later, the shaman's magic-induced flames lit up the room, casting grim shadows across the death knight's face. Krohn turned and sat down on the opposite chair, carefully testing its capability of carrying his weight before relaxing.

"Nathaldor and Jillian gave me a short heads-up on the news. From what I have heard you are not simply looking to chat," the tauren said in his deep, soft voice.

"You are not mistaken," Zaladin said. "I have a request to make of you."

"Speak your mind, my friend."

"I need you to lead my battalion in Mount Hyjal in my stead. They may already have replaced me with someone else, but as me you will have no care for any such arrangements and simply assume the role I left. No one will question you if you play the part right. You will not have to stay there for long, a couple of days at most."

Krohn sighed with a small nod. "I suspected as much."

"I am sorry, Krohn."

"No, you are not."

"I do believe I am," the death knight said, his voice sincere. "I do not wish to have to ask this of you. I know you want no part in this. But I am, putting it mildly, not in Hellscream's fancy at this point, having acted against his orders to come here. I could not simply replace myself with any dimwit volunteering for the job. You are the only one I trust. I need someone who knows me, and I know you are capable of playing me without attracting enough suspicion to be caught. And besides, even if you did not go, Krohn, this war would rage through your life, and you _will_ have to take a stand. In the end, we all do. The only difference is that this time you are taking a stand in place of someone else."

"You speak the truth, I am afraid," the large tauren said, his smile slightly reluctant. "I could only wish you did not only say so to manipulate me into doing what you want. But either way, I will of course aid you. We cannot lose Dorissa."

"No. We cannot."

Krohn's leaned in and, much to the death knight's surprise, placed a furry hand on Zaladin's lower arm. "I know your agony, friend. I have loved once, too."

"How can you if I do not even know myself," Zaladin said, removing his arm from Krohn's reach to stand up and face the wall rather than the tauren. He closed his eyes and grid his teeth, fists clenching as he fought down his frustration. He then took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

"You are leaving tomorrow, preferably before noon. I will arrange for Ameltha and Elathem to meet you by the Wall and weave my shape and voice over yours. I wish you luck, my friend." The last two words had a strange taste to them, but if Krohn could not be defined as a friend, to whom could he actually speak them.

The death knight bid his guest farewell, and the tauren left, the flames dying down in his absence.  
>The term 'alone' had never been filled with such conflicting emotions. In truth, 'alone' had never before been something Zaladin associated with, well, anything.<p>

When he entered the bedroom again, he was struck by something he had somehow managed to block the last time he passed through the room: the scent of Dorissa's skin that still lingered in the heavy blankets and linen on the bed. He quickly pulled her pillowcase off the pillow and stuffed it into his packs.

He then lay down on the mattress, wishing for the first time since he was risen that he was physically able to sleep. But he could only wait for the morrow, feeling that he was wasting crucial time with every passing second he lay there with his eyes closed, seeing her face in his mind.

_Her skin was still damp from their bath; her moonlight hair drew wet patterns on the fresh linen. He had carefully carried her there and laid her down, worried he might have hurt her. Zaladin knew his own strength very well, but when he was with her things often spiraled out of control. Dorissa could light his desire ablaze with a mere gaze, and sometimes his lust blocked his ability to restrain himself and control his actions, like tonight._

_He knew not of exhaustion when it came to pleasures of the flesh. He was never spent, always craving more than she was physically capable of giving him._

_But he did not mind. Around her, he could find satisfaction in simply watching what he had done: Her voice hoarse from pleasurable screams, her uneven breathing struggling in the heaving bosom where a bead of sweat glittered between her pale breasts._

_Lying there next to her soft figure, Zaladin gently pulled her against his naked body and murmured in his tongue: "_Never shall we part, my love, my star, my only desire."  
><em><br>"So beautiful," she managed in a whisper, the corner of her mouth drawing up in a tired smile. "You must teach me more."_

_"I promise to."_

_"Mhmm… Else I'll never know what horrid things you say," she said in a low chuckle._

_"Horrid? No. I speak only words that fulfill the promise I made to you a year ago," he said, twisting her silvery hair between his fingers._

_"The promise… Words of devotion at night?" she recalled._

_"Yes."_

_She slowly turned over to face him, her eyes still closed when she kissed his cold chest. "Thank you."_

_Zaladin studied her beautiful features for a moment before he brought himself to ask: "Answer me truthfully, Dorissa. Have I hurt you tonight?"_

_Dorissa wearily opened her eyes and looked up at him. "No. Not at all." She raised a hand and stroked his right tusk from tip to root, continuing up the black scar across his eye. "Do you honestly believe I would let you hurt me?"_

_"I do not believe you would _intentionally_ let me hurt you."_

_The elf pressed herself against him, he could feel every single curve of her body against his, her nipples stiffening when in contact with his cold chest, the rush of blood in her veins almost audible beneath her soft skin. Oh, how agonizingly easy it would be to take her again. But he must not. She was far too worn down._

_"I know you want me," Dorissa whispered, "and that you're fighting it because you know I can't. You could hurt me, Zaladin. But you never would."_

_"Should I have fought it before?"_

_"No, my love." And with that she pressed her full, delicious lips against his in an explosive, passionate kiss, making him tense to restrain himself from pinning her down and having his way with her. Instead, he settled for wrapping his arms around her and letting his fingers run down her back, tracing the star-shaped scar on her pale skin._

_And for a moment he forgot his lust, lying there with her soft figure cradled in his strong arms. How she got under his skin he would never know, but it did not bother him. Then and there, all that mattered was that she was his.  
><em>  
>The wind rustled the leaves in the treetops outside when Zaladin opened his eyes, the memory slowly fading from his mind. He was used to feeling hollow. But the emptiness inside him now was all but familiar. And there was nothing he could do but stare at the wooden ceiling, impatiently waiting for a dawn that meant nothing to him when he could not watch the soft light of day fall on her resting figure beside him. <p>

* * *

><p>It was the deepest of night when the Bloodlord returned, carrying an unconscious Belfrida in his arms. The starlight was barely visible between the heavy treetops, and the grounds where the two prisoners were kept were only lit by a single torch on a wall to the far left, its orange glow barely reaching the cages.<p>

_"Oho!"_ Zanzil exclaimed excitedly when Mandokir moved into the light: four deep claw marks stretched down the troll's face from his left ear to his chin, blood glistening on the sharp edges of the wounds. _"Mandokir succeeded, yes?"_ He pointed to the other troll's injury.

_"Not even close,"_ Mandokir snarled as he tore open the empty cage and tossed the priestess inside, her body hitting the ground with a flaccid thud. He then proceeded to tie the door with heavy vines again: _"Her hands be all dat change."  
><em>  
>Dorissa was curled up in the back of her cage, her elven eyesight allowing her to see every detail of their faces as she listened in on their conversation. But even if she did understand their language, it was as if they spoke in codes; she had not the slightest idea what they were talking about.<p>

_"How's dat comin'?"_ the larger troll asked with a toss of his long tusks towards whatever it was Zanzil was brewing up.

_"Nearly finished."_ He glanced at the unconscious woman with slight worry in his eyes. _"Mandokir better wait. Priestess be fragile, dere be no sayin' what dis can do to her," _Zanzil advised, raising his stirring rod to inhale the unpleasant aromas from the concoction.

_"Ya think I care?"_ Mandokir studied Belfrida's beautiful face with cool indifference. _"She means nothin' to me."  
><em>  
><em>"She must mean somethin',"<em> Zanzil mumbled, seemingly unaware that he was talking aloud and not thinking to himself. _"Else Mandokir wouldn't be touchin' her everywhere."  
><em>  
>Dorissa suddenly felt nauseous. <em>Touching her…<br>_  
>With almost impossible speed, Mandokir had suddenly moved from his relaxed stance in front of the cages to standing inches away from Zanzil, his enormous frame towering above the other troll. <em>"Ya said <em>what?_"  
><em>  
><em>"Nothin'!"<em> Zanzil said, fright in his voice as he backed away from the furious Bloodlord.

_"Be careful, Zanzil,"_ Mandokir said, a feral snarl pulling at his upper lip, sharp canines glinting white in the light of the torch. He grasped the other troll by his collar and forcefully pulled him closer until their faces were less than an inch apart. _"Or else ya be da next one to get 'touched'."_ He then let go of the smaller troll, causing Zanzil to stagger, regaining his balance as Mandokir turned around and stalked off.

_"Nasty old Mandokir,"_ Zanzil grumbled to himself when the other troll was out of earshot. _"Never nice to Zanzil, doesn't want to be Zanzil's friend."_ He sighed and glanced longingly at the cages. "_No one wants to be Zanzil's friend."  
><em>  
>Dorissa's brow furrowed. <em>Friend? Is that all he wants?<em> She tapped her chin thoughtfully. A plan was slowly taking shape in her head. She would have to somehow convince Zanzil that she would be his friend. The troll was without a doubt a complete nutcase, and with a little luck she might be able to gain his trust and make him let her out of the cage long enough for her to escape. But she needed to wait for the opportune moment. It would do her no good to reveal to him now that she had been listening in on every word he had said; even Zanzil would understand that she knew too much to be trusted. No, she needed an excuse to reveal herself in a way that would make him believe that her intentions were pure. And she needed the priestess back on her feet.

Dorissa glanced at Belfrida. Given the circumstances she looked fairly relaxed, but it was evident that it had nothing to do with her being comfortable; she was simply so badly abused that her body had had to cave to its exhaustion. There was no way she would be able to escape in that condition. And even though she knew she would stand a much better chance on her own, Dorissa had no intention of leaving Belfrida behind.

A weak, almost inaudible moan escaped the priestess' lips, and a tremble passed through her strained body. "Is he gone?" she whispered, not opening her eyes.

"He is."

Forcing her tense limbs to loosen up, Belfrida shifted to what looked to be an uncomfortably vulnerable position half on her back, resulting in the light from the singular torch falling on her body. The sight filled Dorissa with rage: the left side of the priestess' face was horribly swollen. Her lip was split, and fresh bruises were forming all the way from the left side of her neck to her wrist. But what sickened Dorissa the most was the scarlet stain that was blossoming on the soft linen between the woman's legs, evidence of the atrocious acts of Bloodlord Mandokir.

"Belfrida, you-"

"You can tell me nothing of my condition I am not already aware of." The priestess' voice was hoarse and low; she had been robbed of all her strength, and it was clear that she was on the verge of passing out again.

Dorissa bit her lip. "Zanzil!" she called. The troll's head snapped up, and he turned to scowl in her direction.

"She needs water," the half-elf said, her voice ringing like crystal in the quiet surroundings.

Zanzil looked at her with puzzled eyes, seemingly not sure he understood her correctly.

Dorissa sighed. "Water," she tried again, miming the movement of taking a drink from an invisible bottle. "And food," she added with a bite of an imaginary loaf of bread, pointing sharply towards the woman in the other cage.

"It's no use," Belfrida whispered, "neither of them care whether I live or die."

Dorissa ignored her. "Please, Zanzil," she pleaded.

The troll huffed, turning away from the cages once more. _"Zanzil shouldn't. Priestess needs Zanzil's help, but Mandokir will punish Zanzil."_ He looked slightly flustered. _"But if Mandokir doesn't know he won't hurt Zanzil,"_ he pointed out, the debate seemingly being picked up by the other side of his split personality.

He made his decision, turned around and skipped off, a shrill giggle escaping his dark lips.

A few minutes later he returned with a full waterskin and a little bowl of exotic fruits and dried meat, placing the things before the bamboo bars with a cautious glance behind at the path, seemingly afraid Mandokir would have followed him back.

"Thank you, Zanzil," Dorissa said sincerely, earning what looked to be an embarrassed twitch of a smile from the sinewy troll.

The half-elf quickly reached out between the bars and pushed the nutriment towards Belfrida's cage. "I know you hurt, but you have to eat something."

The priestess slowly opened her bloodshot eyes and looked at her. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make him listen to you." She reached a trembling hand through a gap in the bamboo and hooked her slender fingers around the waterskin to drag it through the bars.

"I have very persuasive eyes," Dorissa joked briskly.

An almost-snort escaped the dark woman's lips as she pressed the opening of the waterskin to her lips and drank greedily.

"Belfrida, where do you come from?" Dorissa asked after a few minutes of watching the priestess slowly chew on a piece of brown, dried meat.

"Gilneas," Belfrida said quietly.

"Ah, that explains it."

"What?"

"Your accent," Dorissa said with small smile. "You're a long way from home."

The priestess looked up at her. A cramp shot through her abdomen, and she involuntarily let out a hoarse whimper. "I'm a long way from everything," she managed, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

"You are too weak to heal yourself, aren't you?" Dorissa asked, her stomach knotting at the sight of the priestess' pained face.

"I am. I healed myself the first couple of times." Belfrida looked away, seemingly sickened by what she was about to say: "He is… gentler when I don't."

"You can't be serious; _this_ is _gentle?_" the half-elf said, repulsion in her voice.

"This," the priestess said, gesturing weakly towards the large bloodstain on her bloomers, "was him using the intended opening." 

* * *

><p>Writing this stuff is slowly starting to make me doubt my own sanity, who gives a rat's arse. I am still having fun, and I assume you are, too; one can only believe you are as bonkers as me, hah!<br>Let us only hope Belfrida gets a break from all the horrors soon. The little wolf definitely needs one.


	9. Necessities

**Necessities  
><strong>

The night had brought little rest. She had not slept since Mandokir had returned the priestess. Zanzil had left them alone after a little while, and Dorissa had watched over Belfrida the whole night; the human had fallen asleep eventually, her breathing uneven and hoarse, and Dorissa did not want to risk the priestess' life by falling asleep herself. She was not able to judge exactly how bad Belfrida's condition was, so she would rather miss a night's sleep than drift off and wake to a dead priestess in the other cage. Not that there was anything she could do if Mandokir decided to come back. She could only hope he had had his perversions slaked for long enough to let the human recover, if only enough to survive his next move.

Just as Belfrida had said, it was nigh impossible to tell the time of day, but Dorissa had watched the light of day break the darkness that morning, and her inner clock told her not many hours had passed since dawn. She was tired, but not enough to fall asleep and leave the other woman unguarded.

For what Dorissa assumed was the last hour, Belfrida had finally started breathing evenly and relaxing in her sleep, but now she was stirring, her eyes flickering below the lids as she slowly woke.

"I feel like I've been trampled by an ox cart," the priestess said quietly as she opened her eyes.

"You look like you were."

"Splendid." Belfrida pushed herself up to a sitting position against the back of her cage. She gasped and clenched an arm around her abdomen. "I don't know how much more of this I can take," she said, seemingly surprised at admitting defeat.

Dorissa studied her face. "How many times has he done this to you?"

"I've lost count. And I don't actually want to talk of it." The priestess was silent for a few minutes. She then glanced at Dorissa. "You're a night elf, right?"

"Yes, but only a half-elf; my mother was a human."

"So you're much older than you look?"

Dorissa smiled lightly. "I'm three hundred and four years old."

"Bloody hell." Belfrida studied her face. "You look younger than me," she pondered.

"Night elves age like humans the first twenty or so years. After that the physical aging process slows down so much there is no telling how old we are. I don't know how long that works for me, though, seeing I'm not thoroughbred."

"I don't think I'd want a life like that."

The half-elf would have answered, but the faint sound of voices on the path outside caught her attention.

"Quick, lie down and close your eyes," she whispered.

The priestess stared at her with wide, horrified eyes, but she quickly obeyed and resumed her vulnerable position on the ground.

Moments later the trolls rounded the corner. Zanzil looked incredibly displeased, his sinewy figure stalking about a few steps behind Mandokir.

Dorissa's heart was racing as she watched the Bloodlord approach Belfrida's cage with an alarmingly cold and cruel expression on his sharp face.

Mandokir stopped in front of Belfrida's cage. _"Is she still with us?"  
><em>  
><em>"Zanzil knows nothing,"<em> the other troll grumbled irritably. _"Mandokir's actions be too rough for humans."  
><em>  
>The Bloodlord scowled at Zanzil but decided upon ignoring the former Outcast for the time being. He squatted before the priestess' cage and reached in to feel for a pulse on the human's exposed neck.<br>Dorissa's jaw was clenched as she studied the troll's face, hoping and praying he would not detect that Belfrida was wide awake.

_"She be here yet,"_ the troll said. _"Yer brew. Now."  
><em>  
><em>"No."<em>

Mandokir slowly turned his head and fixed his eyes on Zanzil's face. The witch doctor simply met his eyes, for the first time looking neither jittery nor insecure.

_"Ya best follow ma orders, Zanzil,"_ the Bloodlord said quietly, an acidulous hiss lurking on his tongue.

_"Zanzil won't risk it. Not yet. Priestess not be ready. Dis be too strong,"_ Zanzil said firmly, gesturing towards the kettle he had put a lid on for the night. _"Tomorrow."  
><em>  
>Mandokir raised his impressive figure and stood up straight, towering above the other troll. <em>"Ya be testin' ma patience, Zanzil. And patience's never been a virtue of mine."<br>_  
>But for now he seemed to settle for simply reminding the witch doctor of his self-proclaimed authority. Without taking his threatening eyes off the smaller troll, Mandokir turned and strode out of the grounds, leaving Zanzil alone with the captives again.<p>

The latter sighed, seemingly satisfied with the result of his efforts. He then took a calming breath and enthusiastically skipped across the few meters of empty ground between him and the cages.  
>When he reached Dorissa's cage he kneeled down and cut the vines that held the door. He then opened it and gestured for Dorissa to come outside; to his delight she simply obeyed him without a word of protest.<p>

_"It be bath time for da little elf,"_ Zanzil chirped, seemingly forgetting his half-elf pet was not supposed to understand what he said.

When she simply stared at him in pretended confusion he appeared to realise he had spoken in Zandali. "Bath," he tried in Common, the exotic accent making the word sound completely foreign.

Dorissa nodded and was about to leave in the direction the troll pointed, but when she had taken a step she stopped and turned her head towards Belfrida's cage. She looked up at Zanzil. "Her, too," she said, pointing towards the priestess.

"No, no!" Zanzil said wide-eyed, shaking his head frantically.

"Yes," Dorissa said firmly. She planted her feet defiantly on the ground and crossed her arms, a gesture there was no way the troll could misunderstand.

Zanzil let out a frustrated semi-growl and flailed his hands in frustration. He spun around and began pacing in front of the cages in wild debate with himself. _"Why does de elf girl not co-operate, Zanzil be nice to her, Zanzil get blamed if Mandokir finds out Zanzil helps dark priestess,"_ he rambled, his tongue moving too fast for Dorissa to catch everything he said.

He then stopped, and with an irritated huff he grasped the dagger he had strapped to his belt, and a few seconds later he had freed the door to Belfrida's cage. He opened it and reached in to help the priestess out, but it was easier said than done: the woman was badly hurt, and Zanzil ended up having to lift her out of the cage and place her on her feet, her legs trembling beneath her weight.  
>Dorissa quickly moved in and supported the priestess, but Zanzil let out a frantic sigh and lifted Belfrida up in his arms. He then gave Dorissa a soft push in the direction he had pointed before, and she obeyed him and began walking, the troll following close behind her.<p>

Keeping his eyes fixed on the back of her head, Zanzil steered her onto the path that led out of the grounds where their cages were kept. Enormous flowers and ferns grew by the crumbling walls on either side of the steep path, and soft grass had stubbornly pushed its way up through the cracks in what had once been rough stone tiles but was now reduced to a strangely smooth rubble-like state that was much more comfortable under Dorissa's bare feet than it looked at first glance.

When they reached the end of the path, Zanzil turned to the right and led the half-elf past a small settlement of other trolls, both male and female. They were scattered in little groups on both sides of the narrow path between the ferns, and even though they did not talk much, Dorissa did not doubt that most of them were not familiar with the area at all. They appeared wary and uncomfortable even when going about what looked to be their daily chores, some of them looking up cautiously to catch a glimpse of the odd trio that passed them. It was evident that most of them were newcomers and not Gurubashi trolls. Something was definitely stirring in the ruins, and Dorissa's experience told her she was right in assuming the Gurubashi were planning on rising from the ashes. It was only a matter of time. And soon it would most likely be too late for her to escape. Whatever she was going to do, she would have to do it as fast as she could.

They had reached a loose suspension bridge made of thick vines and rough planks. On the other side lay the enormous temple that once housed the Blood God Hakkar the Soulflayer but was now a seemingly abandoned ruin in the heart of Zul'Gurub, a monument for what had once been.

As with everything else inside the old ruins Dorissa did not question the strength of the bridge, but she still found her knees turning into jelly when she stepped onto the wobbly structure that led across the calm river that flowed many meters below them.

When they reached the stable ground on the other side, Zanzil led Dorissa to the left down the uneven, steep hill that ended on the bank of the small river. The sinewy troll carefully sat the tense priestess down on a soil mound covered in fresh grass. He then sent Dorissa a look that was impossible to misinterpret; he was not going to let her out of his sight for even a second. But it made no difference. There was no point in trying anything with the condition Belfrida was in at the time.

"Give me your blouse," Dorissa said and stepped towards the human.

"What?" Belfrida stared at her in disbelief. "You want me to take off my clothes _here_?" She looked up at Zanzil with terror in her eyes.

"He's not going to do anything to harm you. Just give it to me, Belfrida."

The woman sighed, but she turned her back towards Zanzil who had stalked back up the hill and assumed a watchful position near the end of the bridge. She then ever so slowly pulled the silken blouse over her head, gritting her teeth at the pain it caused to lift her arms.

When she was free of the blouse she handed it to the half-elf and quickly pulled her legs up on the mound, hugging her knees to cover up her naked and bruised upper body.

Dorissa turned and scanned the surroundings; she quickly found a couple of large stones near the river that would do for the purpose.

Cautiously to avoid slipping on potential rocks on the river bottom, she waded out into the water and began washing the priestess' filthy blouse in the clear water, using one of the stones to scrub off the larger stains.

"It's very kind of you," the Belfrida mumbled, seemingly not comfortable with having to thank people for anything.

"Don't mention it," Dorissa said with a small smile.

The human stared at an indefinable spot above the half-elf's head. "Why does he not abuse me?" she asked absently.

"Zanzil?"

"Yes."

"I don't think he's very physical in any way," Dorissa said thoughtfully. "He doesn't seem to like the way Mandokir treats you, but there is not much he can do to prevent it. He lacks the brute strength and perhaps the will to hurt, too. I believe he saved you from another dose of torture back in the cages."

"You sound like you know him."

"I know of him. I have not actually met him before now, but he is an infamous witch doctor. His mixtures are known far and wide; he is very skilled."

"That's strange. He looks like a mental case to me."

"He is, but don't let it fool you. He may be jittery and completely and utterly insane, but that does not mean he is stupid. He won't be fooled easily."

Belfrida nodded. "Dorissa, will you tell me what this place is?" she then asked quietly, looking up at the enormous temple to her right.

Dorissa glanced up at the priestess' face. "Its name is Zul'Gurub. It is the ruins of what was once one of the greatest empires in the world. It was once inhabited only by the Gurubashi trolls, but the trolls you see around here now appear to be gathered from across the entire jungle. It seems that they are trying to rebuild the Gurubashi empire."

"You can tell that just by watching them?" Belfrida sounded slightly skeptical.

Dorissa chewed on her lip, a slight furrow visible on her brow. She felt a strange reluctance towards telling the woman that she spoke fluent Zandali. She did not find it the right time. Not yet. "Some I can figure out because this is not my first visit here."

She felt the human's scrutinising eyes on her face. "I assume the circumstances are a little different this time?" the priestess said questioningly.

"They are, indeed. It's been a few years now, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. I saw Mandokir die that day. I helped bring him down."

"But…" Belfrida stopped, her brow furrowed in confusion. "He ignores you completely, he doesn't even worthy you a glance?"

"He doesn't remember my face."

"How can he not remember the face of his killer?"

"There were many of us. And Mandokir cares for nothing but himself and his raptors. He sees himself as a being of higher status than… well, everyone around him. He has no recollection of my face because he does not deem me worthy of remembrance."

"Does it bother you?"

Dorissa halted her intense scrubbing for a moment and looked up at the priestess. "Why would it?"

Belfrida shrugged. "I can only imagine you would want a little acknowledgement for what you did."

The half-elf snorted. "In any other situation I might have considered reminding him, but knowing what he does to you completely unprovoked does not exactly tempt me to toss in a remark about that particular detail."

"I suppose that makes perfect sense," the priestess said bitterly.

"There," Dorissa said after a minute of silence. "That's about as good as it gets." She laid the silken blouse on a nearby rock that had been warmed by the scarce rays of sunlight that succeeded in breaking through the heavy canopy. "Give me those now," she said, gesturing towards the lower part of Belfrida's maltreated undergarments.

"Please don't make me do this," the human said quietly, her arms tensing around her knees.

"Belfrida, there is no arguing with me; if you don't take off those bloomers and hand them to me now, I will personally drag you down here. Either way, they are coming off, and you are going to wash up whether you like it or not."

"Don't misunderstand me now," the priestess said, a displeased draw about her lips as she slowly got up and, covering her breasts with an arm, unwillingly limped down towards Dorissa. "I do want to get cleaned up. It's just…" She stopped by the very edge of the river, skeptically eyeing the water. "I feel exposed enough as it is."

Dorissa looked at the woman. She knew nothing of who Belfrida really was, but it was easy to see how the world had become a complete stranger to her. She was an indoor girl; even if her body was bruised and battered there was a sort of cool aristocracy about the way she carried herself, and behind the deadness in her eyes lurked an inconceivable pride Dorissa knew only in people whose rank in society was only beaten in height by their ego. It was evident that Belfrida had once possessed that trait, too, but here she was totally and utterly out of her element and familiar frames, and she looked so broken and fragile Dorissa felt heartsick just by looking at her.

"Let me help you," she said and reached a hand out towards the priestess.

Belfrida eyed her cautiously like a dog that had been struck by its master. She then grasped Dorissa's hand and let the half-elf support her weight as she carefully lowered her body into the water.

When she had steadied the human, Dorissa waded around her to be able to reach her braid. She loosened the thick silk band around the end and began untangling the priestess' heavy hair.

"What are you doing?" Belfrida asked nervously.

"There," Dorissa said. She put her hands on the woman's shoulders and turned her around, and lastly she spread her thick, black hair out and covered her upper body with it. "You can remove your arm now. Sit down here; the water is deep enough for no one to be able to see anything when you take off your bloomers."

Belfrida's forest green eyes were wide with discomfort as she carefully sat down and pulled the bloomers off below the water. She then handed them to Dorissa who began scrubbing them against the rock like she had with the priestess' blouse.

There was only so much she could do; holding the cotton between her hands, Dorissa was now able to see all the bloodstains, and they were countless. It pained her knowing that for every one of them there was an injury on Belfrida's body, and there was little she could do to relieve her of them.

"What's your life like?" the human suddenly asked, dipping her hair in the water and beginning to rinse it out the best she could.

"I… That's a difficult question to answer," Dorissa said absently.

"Where do you live?"

"In Ashenvale."

Belfrida halted the washing of her hair for a second and looked at the half-elf. "That's in Kalimdor, is it not?"

"It is, yes."

"But however did you wind up here then?"

"My ship sunk. I flew for the Eastern Kingdoms, but the storm blew me off course and I somehow washed up here in Stranglethorn Vale, practically landing in the arms of Zanzil."

"Hold on a second… You _flew_?" Belfrida was inarguably trying hard, but she was unable to completely hide the skepticism in her voice.

Dorissa sent her a small smile. "I flew, yes. I used to be a druid. I'm not entirely certain of what I would be classified as now, though."

"And why is that?" the priestess asked, not taking her eyes off the half-elf.

She glanced up at Zanzil. The troll was keeping an eye on them, but he appeared oblivious to what they were talking about. "Long story short, I lost faith in Elune, the goddess all night elves worship. Upon realising this, I lost my druidic abilities because they were linked to my faith in her. But I wasn't going to simply give them up, so eventually I sought out a warlock. With the help of her books and skills I managed to re-obtain the powers I had lost."

"Why did you lose faith?"

Dorissa looked at the woman. "It's probably nothing compared to the situation you're in right now. But keep in mind that I have lived many times the years you have. Night elves are pretty much secluded from the rest of the world, and when I saw what existed outside my home and how much more _alive_ other peoples were, I began doubting our ways. And I have outlived almost every person I have ever been close to. Allies, friends, lovers; I have seen them all die and been powerless to prevent it. All I could do was pray. And not once did Elune hear me. In the end I could stand the disappointment and sorrow no longer, and I gave up. I believe in her existence no longer; her silence is proof enough for me that I am right."

"Witnessing the death of someone you love is far more painful than any physical injury," Belfrida said quietly. There was a solemn sadness in her eyes that Dorissa was unable to interpret, but there was no doubt the priestess suffered not only from the acts of Bloodlord Mandokir.

It was a risky promise. But when she spoke the words, quietly to not draw Zanzil's attention, Dorissa knew they were the truth: "I will free you, Belfrida. I promise." 

* * *

><p>The sun was setting, and the sound of bowstrings being released dominated the finally calming surroundings in the Valley of Honor. Most of the hunters had left, exhausted and tired of each other and the constant cocky competing that was almost unavoidable in the training grounds. Seven hunters were still there, their brows equally covered in a fine film of sweat as they steadily fired arrows at the training dummies.<p>

Zaladin glanced at an engraved pocket watch the only undead hunter had left by the rest of his fairly eccentric belongings near the death knight. Eleven hours he had spent there, remaining in the shadows and watching the patrolling guards nearby. They had not yet noticed his presence, and he did not suspect they would. He had drawn no attention to himself upon arriving in Orgrimmar, and if he could slip into the city without setting off an alarm he could easily remain there for as long as he wished.

Eleven hours, and not one of the hunters had caught his interest. He had not expected them to; the most experienced hunters would most likely be tracking down the Twilight's Hammer in Mount Hyjal by now. Another half hour, then he would leave. He was no tracker, but he still trusted his own judgment more than that of the halfwits who had passed in and out of his sight that day.

As he let his gaze wander along the line of practicing hunters, a small figure entering the grounds caught his attention.

She was thin, even for a blood elf. Almost scrawny, but she carried it with the notorious pride of her race, her nose held high and a condescending draw around her claret-coloured lips. An enormous male lion stalked about a few steps behind her, its eyes fixed on Zaladin. The cat bared its teeth at him.

This was no surprise; his scent was sweet, but the smell of death lingered beneath the cold his body radiated, and his being appalled both humanoids and beasts. But while humanoids had learned to live with it, beasts mostly fled from his presence, and he had occasionally been attacked by the less tame of hunter companions, often resulting in unpleasant and expensive visits to the veterinarian's on the unlucky hunters' behalf.

The feline in front of him seemed to have decided upon simply keeping an eye on him for the moment. Zaladin knew it had already alerted its mistress that he was watching her, but he could not have cared less.

The huntress raised a thin, mail-clad arm and pointed sharply towards the right corner of the training grounds, and the lion somewhat unwillingly padded away from her and lay down, its observant blue eyes still fixed on the death knight.

Having readied her bow, which should have been much too heavy for her skinny frame, the blood elf began firing at the target dummy in front of her. Her speed was impressive, her timing extremely accurate.

Zaladin's eyes wandered to the dummy, and he cocked a brow upon noticing that the elf was actually making an intricate pattern on its front with the arrows she fired. After a few seconds he determined it to be a simplified version of the Silvermoon coat of arms. His gaze shifted back to the female. _Yes.  
><em>  
>The death knight straightened up and silently approached the elf. When he was right behind her, her lion emitted a warning snarl, and the blood elf released her second-last arrow, spun around and fired the final one directly at Zaladin's forehead.<p>

The death knight caught it in the nick of time, broke it in half between his fingers and tossed it aside. Her reaction had been perfect; she was the one he would use.

The elf straightened up with a feline draw around her lips, challengingly glaring at the troll. "Do you mind?" she sneered. "It's all ruined now!" she pointed towards the target dummy. The previous arrow had hit approximately a millimeter to the left of the intended spot.

"I could not have cared less if you had hit your cat," Zaladin said indifferently. "Why are you not in Hyjal?"

"Leaving at dawn," she said, moving to the target dummy to carefully pull the arrows out of the damaged wood.

"I have a proposal to make you."

The female snorted. "You can't possibly pay me more than what I've already been offered."

Zaladin cocked a brow. "I beg to differ. Whatever your superiors have offered you, I will double it and give you half in advance."

She was easy. The reluctance was still visible in her eyes, but her thirst for wealth quickly won her over. "I want to see cold cash before I believe that," she said condescendingly, almost managing to conceal her excitement and greed.

The death knight nodded once and turned to leave.

"Wait a second," the blood elf said. "Aren't you that… Grim-person? What was it. Grimbreath, Grimface, Grimtooth…"

"Grimtusk."

"That. I've heard a lot of strange things about you, namely that you were banished yesterday. I think it'd be in order to ask you what you want with me before I sign up for it."

Zaladin sighed. "I need a tracker."

"Why me?"

"With every word you speak you make me question my decision more. But I have no choice. Your capability appears to exceed theirs," Zaladin said and gestured towards the other hunters, one of them clumsily piling crates to stand on in order to reach an arrow he had somehow fired into the wall a meter above his training dummy.

"Well… that it does," the elf said, seemingly struggling between being disappointed and offended. She then huffed. "Alright. I want six thousand in advance."

_That can hardly be your deal in Hyjal,_ Zaladin thought, but he said nothing and simply nodded at her. "You will meet me by the docks at dawn. And if you are planning on taking _that_ with you," he added with a sharp toss of his tusks towards her displeased lion, "you will bring a harness." 

* * *

><p>The huntress was there when he landed his frostwyrm by the docks the next day, impatiently tapping her foot and glaring at him with fel green eyes.<p>

Her foul mood changed upon the sight of the large skin bag of gold the death knight tossed at her when he had dismounted. "You may count it on the flight if you will, but I am not wasting time waiting for you here."

The blood elf opened the cords on the bag and peeked inside. Seemingly satisfied, she shrugged and stuffed the bag into one of her packs. "Where are we headed?" she asked indifferently while rearranging her belongings.

"Out to sea."

"That's all you're telling me?"

"I cannot tell you more than I know myself."

"You must at least know what we're looking for?" the skinny elf said condescendingly.

Zaladin took a deep breath. He foresaw a challenge in not separating the female's head from her shoulders at some point during one of the coming days.

He retrieved the pillowcase from the packs he had attached to his frostwyrm's saddle. "We are looking for an elf who goes by the name of Dorissa the Enslaver. This is her scent," he said, handing the pillowcase to her.

The huntress carefully breathed in a whiff of the scent that still clung to the fabric. She wrinkled her nose and looked up at him. "This is a night elf," she stated as she reached down to let her pet have a whiff of the scent. "What do you want with a night elf?"

"You are awfully curious for someone so petite and breakable," the death knight said acidly.

"Fine, don't tell me. I'll figure it out soon enough," the elf decided confidently.

Zaladin grid his teeth and pointed sharply towards his mount. "Strap up that unpleasant feline of yours and move your own ill-tempered arse to the saddle, if you please," he said with almost convincing sweetness, had it not been for the low hiss that lurked beneath every syllable.

The huntress made an impressively rude gesture at him, but without further comments she did as he ordered. 

* * *

><p>Here it is at last: the real chapter nine.<br>I sincerely apologise for writing 'within the next few days'. I believed I had time to post this much earlier, but as you might have guessed I did not.  
>Anyhoo, Mandokir is back to his usual unpleasantness involving far less surprise buttsex (at least for Zanzil's part), and Zaladin is up and running once more. Though, I can assure you that the poor fellow will probably wish the fake chapter had been real when he gets to know the nature of this skinny little bitch he has chosen to hire.<br>And before I forget it, once again I have no clue whatsoever how the night elf aging system actually works, so using a friend of mine's creative mind as support I made up something I find plausible yet again. But I still usher you to come forward should you hold the knowledge I lack!


	10. Closer

**Closer**

_"The King has fallen." The words felt strangely dead on his tongue._

_Dorissa's eyes were inscrutable as she studied his face and put aside the book she had been reading. "What do you feel, Zaladin?"_

_"I... Believe I am experiencing an unfamiliar sense of spaciousness inside my skull."_

_The half-elf smiled crookedly. "You really have a way with words, my love." Her face changed when she saw the look of utter perplex confusion on his face, and she got up from her chair and carefully helped him rid himself of his heavy armour and sword._

_"Did you deal the final blow?" she asked as he was wrapping the different pieces up in soft cloth to lock them away in the chest designed for the purpose._

_Zaladin finished and stared into the wall. "No."_

_"Is that what bothers you?"_

_"No…" The death knight's brow furrowed, and he began pacing back and forth, absently tapping his fingers against his right tusk. "What bothers me is that I had no knowledge of how much of him was in fact inhabiting my mind. I feel strangely liberated, yet I do not know what I am to do with that liberty. And I have yet to become accustomed to the term 'not knowing'." Zaladin stopped and looked at Dorissa._

_The expression on the half-elf's face was not one he was familiar with. "Of what are you thinking?" he asked._

_"I am thinking," she started, and in a fluid movement she crossed the room to stand before him, "that you said there was more space inside your head, is that correct?"_

_"I believe it is."_

_"Then perhaps there is more room for you to be, well, you." Dorissa's lips formed the beginnings of a smile._

_"Yes…" Zaladin studied her face. "How is it," he said and raised a hand to let it slide slowly down Dorissa's chest and stomach, "that you are always capable of putting my state of mind into words when I fail myself?"_

_He could feel her quiver lightly beneath the fabric of her robe, but her face showed no signs of being affected by his touch. _Shall have to do something about that.  
><em><br>"I suppose there is no use in denying it any longer: I study your state of mind more than you do," she said with a joking smile. Her lips looked incredibly inviting._

_The death knight let out a deep, puzzled laugh, and with the speed of a viper he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against her soft neck, his large hands traveling greedily down her figure, fingers playing across very intimate parts of Dorissa's body._

_She let out a gasp of surprise followed by a pleased, trembling sigh._

_"_You are perfection."_ The Zandali words rolled lazily from his tongue as he forcefully pressed her small figure down on the floorboards and, much to his delight, discovered that she was wearing nothing but briefs underneath her robe. His face bore a wide, satisfied grin when he let his right hand slide up her thigh and slip inside the thin, lace-decorated fabric._

_"Zaladin, wh- oh!" He effectively silenced her when his nimble fingers danced along her hot, wet opening, and with utmost amusement he ran his index finger into her, resulting in the most agonizingly delicious sound from her open mouth. She was his instrument, and he intended to play her until she had no more notes left in her._

_"Why you would ever question my intentions I shall never know," the troll said with a low chuckle, twisting and vibrating his fingers to not leave any part of her red-hot core neglected._

_"I- Mhmm, I… D-don't," she managed, undulating her shaking hips in response to his experienced movements inside her. She somehow found the strength to grasp his neck and pull him down to let her full lips crash passionately against his, teeth closing around his lower lip with exciting roughness…  
><em>  
>"Hellooo?" The huntress' blowtorch voice efficiently cut through his fantasies, forcing him back to the remarkably disappointing reality.<p>

"What do you want?"

"It's been three days. How can you not even have asked for my name yet?" the blood elf asked irritably, reluctantly steadying herself with an arm around the death knight's armoured waist.

"Because I have not yet found it in me to care for that knowledge," Zaladin said, studying the map he had spread out in front of him. "But do enlighten me as to what you call yourself," he added indifferently.

The elf huffed, seemingly very offended. "Rahsi . What's your first name?"

"Zaladin."

"Hm, that doesn't sound nearly as intimidating as I'd thought it would. Should've been something starting with 'Zul', don't you think?"

Zaladin closed his eyes, silently counting to ten. "The prefix 'Zul' shows that one masters hexes and voodoo. There are no indications that I have ever had anything to do with either of those two."

"Whatever," Rahsi said, tossing her shoulder-long hair away from her face.

The Great Sea stretched below them as the frostwyrm steadily closed in on their destination. Here and there they could still spot little bits of floating wreckage, confirming that they were near the site they were looking for, but the wind and waves had carried most evidence of the happenings far away from where it must have taken place.

"Stop," Rahsi said quietly. Zaladin glanced back at her and gave the reins a tug to halt the reanimated wyrm mid-air. "There," she said, pointing towards the surface of the water, and Zaladin's eyes followed her thin finger.

Despite being a formidable pest, the huntress was very talented, and her eyes were not mistaken. The water was fairly clear, but the sun reflected on the surface blocked most of Zaladin's view to the bottom. But the dark shape Rahsi had spotted near the ocean floor was definitely an upside-down ship having met its watery grave.

The death knight did not hesitate. With extreme haste he removed his plate armour and dropped it all in Rahsi's unprepared arms. "Hey, this is freaking heavy!" she complained, but he ignored her.  
>Rearranging the position of his sword on his back, Zaladin stood up on the frostwyrm, easily balancing on the massive creature. "Wait here," he murmured.<p>

"It's not like you give me a choice," the huntress sneered, but the death knight had leaped from the saddle, his body breaking the surface and shooting through the water a moment later.

It was like entering another world. A relieving sense of calm silence engulfed him as he agilely swam towards the shipwreck. He caught a glimpse of a seaweed-green naga tail taking off nearby, but he took no notice of it.

When he reached the soft ocean floor, he trod water and searched the site with his gaze. There was no apparent sign of life. But if his eyes were not mistaken, and they seldom were, that was indeed a very small flicker of light he saw inside the upside-down wreck.

He approached the hole in the side of the ship, and, carefully to avoid scratching his skin on the broken planks, he pulled himself through the opening and up to what would have been below deck but was now the upper part of the ship.

When he reached the top Zaladin's head broke through the water, and he found himself in a pocket of air inside the shipwreck. A startled noise had him turn his head quickly to the left where his eyes fell upon a Broken who was readying an offensive spell to strike him with.

Zaladin quickly raised his hands to show the creature he meant no harm. The other looked at him skeptically and lowered his hands, but he was still on his guard.

"What is your name?" Zaladin asked.

"Erunak. I am Erunak Stonespeaker," the Broken said stoically, his face still wary. A low groan told Zaladin that Erunak and he were not alone, and he glanced at the other side of the ship where two injured sailors lay on an interim bed of ripped cloth and seaweed.

"I am looking for someone," Zaladin said, hauling himself to a sitting position on what was once the ceiling. "Her name is Dorissa the Enslaver, a night elf druid with silvery hair and a black crescent on her forehead. She sailed from Stormwind not many days ago. Do you have any information regarding her whereabouts?"

"I do not," the Broken said, turning his attention to the healing gauze he was preparing for the injured sailors in the other end of the room.

"What's the troll saying?" one of the sailors mumbled in Common, a male human whose left leg had been severed just above the knee.

"He is looking for a night elf whom he believes was aboard one of these ships," Erunak replied, quickly summarising the description Zaladin had given.

"Tell him –" the sailor managed, but a sudden surge of pain shot through his injured leg, and he let out an agonised groan followed by a series of cramped coughs.

Zaladin stood up and approached the human, switching to Common: "Tell me what?"

The sailor looked up at him with feverish eyes. "You speak…" He took a deep breath, deciding it did not matter that the troll spoke his language. "There was a night elf on our vessel. Silvery hair, soft eyes. Claimed she was a druid, but she sure as hell didn't act like one."

Zaladin nodded. "Can you tell me what happened to her?"

"I'm not sure. It was all chaos, people being thrown off deck, the ship being torn apart by that monstrous thing. I know I saw her grow wings and fly off, but I have no idea if she got away. It was storming, too."

"Storming… From which direction did the wind come?" the death knight asked.

"How in the name of the Light would I ever notice that when the shi-"

"North, mostly north-west," Erunak said, interrupting the irritated human.

"I thank you both," Zaladin said, lowering his body back into the cool water.

"Death knight," Erunak called, and the troll turned his head in the Broken's direction. "There were almost no survivors. I would not get my hopes up if I were you."

"I have no choice," Zaladin responded.

"Aren't you gonna send for help?" the injured sailor shouted, but the death knight had already returned to the water and begun his journey to the surface.

"What took you so long?" Rahsi whined as he ascended the saddle once more. He deliberately tossed his soaked hair out of his face, sending a cascade of heavy drops at the squealing blood elf.

"She will have flown back towards Stormwind, most likely to report to her superiors about the happenings and collect help for the crews. But if it was storming…" Zaladin's eyes narrowed. "The wind came from the north-west…" he continued absently, his inner compass guiding him as he turned his head south-east.

He gave the reins a sharp pull, forcing the frostwyrm around and causing Rahsi to almost fall off under loud protesting. "Would it _kill_ you to tell me _anything_?" she sneered, desperately hooking her bony fingers in his belt to stay in the saddle. She then carefully leaned over the side to comfort and coo at her terrified lion that had been strapped to the belly of the frostwyrm in a sturdy leather harness.

"No, I do not believe it would," Zaladin said indifferently as he pressed the frostwyrm to its speed limit.

"Then start doing so?"

The death knight sighed and then responded as patiently as he could manage: "I have been informed of the happenings on the Alliance vessel by a surviving sailor, and from what he described, the Enslaver flew for the Eastern Kingdoms, but the wind will have blown her off course, sending her south-east rather than east."

"Ah," the huntress said, showing no sign of concern for the survivors on the shipwreck. "What is this elf to you anyway?" she then asked, studying her manicured fingernails.

"That is not of your concern. And I do recall you saying you would solve that puzzle yourself," Zaladin said absently.

"Yeah, I'm already bored with that. You're not very interesting," Rahsi responded. "But perhaps you would be if you would tell me," she added nonchalantly.

"If that is the case, you have a dreadfully uninteresting trip ahead of you."

"Perhaps. Or I'll just keep myself entertained by asking questions until you tell me," the huntress reasoned, self-satisfaction apparent in her voice. "Is the elf your… lover?"

Zaladin cocked a brow. "No." _Technicalities.  
><em>  
>"Okay, then she… killed one of your family members?"<p>

"I am dead, Rahsi."

"But it could be," the blood elf pointed out. "What about this: she's plotting against your plan to slay Garrosh Hellscream and take over Orgrimmar?"

"I presume your questions will be getting dumber and dumber until I succumb to my irritation and tell you what you wish to know."

"That's about right, yes."

"I wish you luck," the death knight said calmly, slowly wrapping his mind around the mouthwateringly satisfying idea of tearing the blood elf limb from limb, tossing her mangled carcass into the ocean and flying off into the horizon, and with a joyless smirk he licked his teeth and readied himself for hours and hours of excruciating torture. 

* * *

><p>The days went by slowly. Mandokir seemed to have lost interest in the priestess for the time being, and he had not shown his face the last three days. Belfrida was recovering, but the process was slow. Dorissa had tried to convince her to heal herself, but she refused to "waste what energy he had left her", as she put it, on patching herself up.<p>

Zanzil had done nothing to her, either. He became more and more jittery with every passing hour; even if he did not say anything, Dorissa could read from his expression that it was expected of him to experiment on the priestess while Mandokir was absent, but he had not laid a finger on her once. He had even gone as far as disposing of the concoction Mandokir had initially asked him to use on Belfrida and was now brewing up a new, though equally foul-smelling substance in his kettle.

Dorissa's optimism was slowly returning. If the trolls left Belfrida to recover for just another day perhaps it was time for an attempt at escaping. The priestess was able to walk at an almost normal pace now, and Dorissa did not believe it would take long before she could run, too.

It felt strange simply sitting there in the cage waiting for something to happen that would be her cue for trying to free them both. The first days Dorissa had somehow managed to push aside thoughts of exactly how dire a situation she was in, but now the circumstances were slowly becoming clear to her, and it was finally occurring to her that no one in the world knew where she was. Perhaps no one even knew the ships had sunk. Her effects were gone, her wings practically clipped, and if she actually did somehow escape her cage she would have a weakened priestess with no battle skills whatsoever to look after; not a single thing was working in her favour.

And no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many things she should worry about, the only thought Dorissa was completely unable to rid herself of was that of never seeing Zaladin again. Had the ships not sunk she would have had the tough battle for claiming Vashj'ir to focus on, but as it were, her mind was free to stray in any direction it desired, the result usually a longing for the death knight so intense she had to stop herself from sobbing miserably out loud. She needed to be strong for both Belfrida and herself, and it would do her no good grieving over what she could not yet be certain was to be. No, she needed to maintain her focus on planning the escape.

"Oh no," Belfrida said quietly; the first words she had spoken that day. "And here I thought he might've forgotten about me."

Dorissa looked up, and the tiny spark of hope that had ignited inside her was abruptly put out by the sight of the Bloodlord's flamboyant appearance as he entered the grounds. Zanzil looked up and swallowed hard upon the sight of him, but he managed to keep a straight face as he met the other troll's eye.

_"Has it manifested yet?"_ Mandokir asked quietly, glancing in the direction of the cages.

Zanzil shook his head and waved his herbal knife about in pretended frustration. _"She be stubborn. She be lockin' up her wolf, never lettin' it out to feed. Zanzil be tryin' everythin',"_ he lied, for once sounding convincing.

The lean troll whimpered when Mandokir's right hand locked around his neck. Dorissa could see his nails boring into Zanzil's skin. _"Ya haven't tried hard enough den."_ The Bloodlord's grip tightened for a few seconds, but he quickly released the frightened Zanzil who bravely spat curses at him and returned to his reeking concoctions. Mandokir simply turned around and stalked towards the cages.

Dorissa glanced at the priestess in the other cage. _Her wolf?  
><em>  
>When he reached the captives Mandokir opened Belfrida's cage, reached in and pulled her out by her upper arms.<p>

"Let go of me, you hideous bastard!" the priestess snarled, finally showing some of the proud strength Dorissa had sensed used to reside in her being, but Mandokir ignored her completely.

The half-elf watched in pity as he dragged her towards Zanzil and threw her on the ground before the other troll's feet. _"Make it quick,"_ he sneered, crossing his arms and settling for an arrogant stance as he took in Belfrida's loathing face with a dark smirk.

Zanzil turned towards the two and squatted down before the woman. In his left hand he held a worn vial containing a bubbling green, mud-like substance. Belfrida immediately backed away from him, but she was stopped by Mandokir's large hands when he kneeled and grasped her around her waist, trapping her body firmly against his armoured knee. He moved his right hand to her forehead and forced it back, making the priestess unwillingly open her mouth. _"Now."  
><em>  
>Zanzil obeyed with a displeased scowl and poured the disgusting substance down the woman's throat. Belfrida tried spitting it out, but Mandokir quickly moved his hand to close her mouth, forcing her to swallow the thick liquid. When he was sure she had consumed it all he let go of her head, but he still held her locked on the ground. Dorissa studied Belfrida's face, looking for a sign of whatever it was the trolls were waiting for to happen.<p>

The human sat completely still, her face frozen for minutes. Dorissa was beginning to worry she had choked on whatever it was they had made her drink. But suddenly her vibrant emerald eyes flashed red, and her entire body began writhing in spasms. Mandokir loosened his grip around her with a cruel grin. _"Yes!"_ he proclaimed, staring hopefully at the woman. She arched her back convulsively and twisted in the direction of the cages, and Dorissa saw that her face was gradually changing, elongating into a feral snout, her canines growing and shaping into sharp fangs.

But whatever it was they were trying to bring forth, Belfrida was fighting it valiantly. The transformation did not proceed any further, for the priestess suddenly blinked and stared directly at Dorissa. The green returned to her eyes, her lips parted and she uttered a terrible growl: "NO!"

Her effort was immense and draining, but slowly her twisting features began to return to their exotic beauty, the throbbing veins in her temples the only evidence of the inner battle she was fighting. Within a few minutes she lay completely limp in Mandokir's arms, her face covered in sweat and her eyes closed from exhaustion.

The Bloodlord let out a furious growl and tossed the human aside. In a raptor-like leap he had reached Zanzil, grasped the sinewy troll by his neck and slammed him down on the reagent table, shattering vials and smashing ingredients with Zanzil's body. He bent down and hissed: _"Ya be failin' me for da last time, Zanzil."_

_"Jin'do… needs Zanzil,"_ the troll choked, desperately trying to pry open the stronger troll's massive fingers.

_"If ya keep disappointin' me, I be afraid Jin'do will have to find a different way to resurrect Venoxis and Jeklik,"_ Mandokir sneered, releasing his grip on Zanzil.

He then returned to the priestess who still lay on the ground, lifted her up and put her back in her cage. Then he strode out of Zanzil's grounds, leaving the other troll alone with the prisoners.

Zanzil slowly got up from the table. Some of the vials that had broken beneath him had left glass splinters in his back, and he began trying to pull them out of his dark skin, but he was unable to reach most of them.

Dorissa glanced up, making sure Mandokir was out of earshot. She then took a deep breath. It was time. _"Zanzil,"_ she said quietly, moving to the front of the cage to look at him. The troll did not react at first. _He's probably used to hearing voices in his head he has to block out,_ Dorissa thought with a joyless smirk. She cleared her throat. _"Zanziiil,"_ she called softly, biting her lip nervously.

The troll looked up from his efforts and turned his head towards her, his face a question mark.

_"I can help you with that,"_ Dorissa said sweetly, gesturing towards his back.

Zanzil blinked. _"Ya… Ya be speakin' Zanzil's tongue?"  
><em>  
><em>"Yes. I know Zandali,"<em> she said carefully, holding her breath as she anticipated his reaction. The troll simply stared at her. _"Do you want me to remove the splinters for you?"_ Dorissa then asked. A retching noise from the left indicated that Belfrida had awoken and was regurgitating the remnants of the horrid brew in the back of her cage; the following stench confirmed Dorissa's suspicions.

Zanzil did not respond to her question, but he had apparently decided upon investigating her intentions, for he slowly moved towards her cage with a cautious look on his face. When he stopped in front of her, Dorissa carefully reached out between the bamboo bars of her prison and gestured for him to turn around. He obeyed, and Dorissa gently began pulling out the pieces of glass sticking out of his skin. He winced a couple of times, but he did not utter a word.

When she had finished, Dorissa touched every one of the cuts with her middle finger and closed them with her basic healing abilities. Zanzil gasped upon feeling the wounds close, and he turned towards her and squatted down, staring at her with narrowing eyes. _"Why ya be helpin' Zanzil?"  
><em>  
>"<em>Mandokir is not very nice to you, is he?"<em> Dorissa said softly, looking up at the troll with large, innocent eyes. _"I know you just want a friend, Zanzil. I can be your friend."  
><em>  
>"<em>Ya be… Zanzil's friend?"<em>

_"Yes. But you must promise not to tell anyone. Especially not Mandokir. He won't be happy if he knows I understand what you are attempting."  
><em>  
>Zanzil looked at her nervously. "<em>How can Zanzil know he can trust elf girl?" <em>he mumbled to himself.

Dorissa quickly thought through how she could convince him. It was essential for her plan that he trusted her to not take advantage of him. _"I have something for you,"_ she then said. It pained her, but she had to do it. She reached down her blouse and retrieved the enormous sapphire Zaladin had given her. With slightly trembling fingers she bit down on her lower lip to hold back the tears, pulled it over her head and laid it in the surprised troll's large hand. _"It will bring you luck, friend,"_ she said, forcing herself to smile at him.

_"Ohhh,"_ Zanzil said happily, holding the large pendant up to his eye, mesmerised by the glittering jewel. _"Shiny charm for Zanzil!"_ he giggled. _"Ya be Zanzil's friend after all!"  
><em>  
><em>"Yes, but remember: do <em>not_ tell Mandokir,"_ Dorissa said firmly. _"This is our secret,"_ she added with a wink.

_"Yes yes, our secret, Zanzil's secret,"_ the troll babbled, and he got up and began cleaning his reagent table while excitedly humming an off-key tune.

"Who are you?" Belfrida suddenly asked hoarsely. Dorissa looked at her. The priestess appeared to have been watching the whole scenario closely from her cage.

"I already told you?"

"As it turns out, I don't think you did, really. How, for example, do you speak their language, and why haven't you mentioned it before now?"

The half-elf looked up at Zanzil, but the troll was far too engaged in rearranging his possessions to be listening in on them, and from her observations over the past days she had concluded that he did not actually understand enough Common to know what they said.

"I've been listening to their conversations, waiting for something I could use to get us out of here," she said quietly. "Zanzil here," - she gestured towards the humming troll - "is lonely and wants a friend. I'm going to give him one."

"Are you out of your mind?" Belfrida hissed. "You can't make friends with _that_," she said, pointing a dark finger in the troll's direction.

"No," Dorissa said, "but I can make him believe that I can."

The priestess cocked a brow condescendingly and snorted. "And that's going to get us where, exactly?"

"That's going to get my cage open."

Belfrida shook her head. "I hope you know what you're doing. And you avoided my first question; how do you know Zandali?"

"I was taught by a very… reliable source."

"As in, a troll."

"Yes, a troll," Dorissa said, rolling her eyes. "They're not all like your red-haired nightmare, you know."

"And what are your relations with this troll?" Belfrida asked coldly, ignoring the other female's last remark.

"What does it matter if it can help us get out of this place?"

The human shook her head. "I suppose it doesn't," she said briskly. "What was it you gave him?"

"Something very dear to me," Dorissa said quietly. "A gift from my life-mate."

"Impressive," Belfrida said. "That was quite the jewel. Is he wealthy?"

"Yes, but if I know him right I'm quite sure he didn't buy it, if you get my drift."

"Oh, he's in the army?"

"I suppose you could say that, yes," Dorissa said, avoiding details as much as she could. She was fairly certain the priestess would not look kindly upon the fact that of all men in the world she had chosen an undead troll to be her love.

"What's he like then?" Belfrida asked absently, reaching for a large leaf outside the bars to scrape the vomit off the ground and out of the cage.

"Unique," Dorissa said with a small smirk. "He's very intimidating and cold, but he can be extremely polite, too. I don't think he's aware of the last bit, though." She continued, lost in thought: "He's cruel, but loving. Every word he speaks weaves a noose around your neck, yet he makes you long for the moment when the stool is pulled from underneath your feet and you find yourself dangling on the edge between life and death."

"That," Belfrida said, covering the spot where she had retched with loose soil and vegetation, "is by far the most unlikely combination I have ever heard."

"If you ever meet him you will understand." Dorissa folded her arms around her knees, leaning against the bamboo bars behind her. "What about you. What was your life like before you ended up here?"

Belfrida glanced at her. "I was an advisor to the royal family in Gilneas. My husband was Sir Hubert Crowley, a handsome, gentle man who loved me for everything I never was and whose last name I was too proud to take."

"You speak in the past tense," Dorissa remarked.

"He is no more," the priestess said, her jaw tensing.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Dorissa waited, but Belfrida did not continue. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I can see in your eyes that you are alone and have confined in no one, and you look like you want to. And in the event that my plan should fail and we are to rot in here, you can at least let me know with whom I am to share my last days."

The priestess was silent for a couple of minutes. When she spoke, she sounded like she would rather drop dead than share the words that waited on the tip of her tongue: "My story is painful and dark, and I promise you that you will loathe me for the things I have done. If you want to know me, you must swear to me that no matter what you think of me when I have told you, you will not abandon me in this horrid place when you escape because you despise me."

Dorissa looked at the woman before her. She looked completely serious. She weighed the human's words and answered: "My own morals have been rather… unbalanced for quite a few years now. I promised you I would free you. Whatever you have done, I will not leave you here because of it."

Belfrida nodded. "I don't suppose you have heard what has happened in Gilneas as of late?"

"Not a word."

"Very well; from the beginning it is." 

* * *

><p>So stuff is slowly unfolding!<br>I do not have much to say on this chapter. Stay tuned; a hazardous escape is not far from being attempted, but whether or not it goes well I have no intention of revealing just yet.


	11. Revelation

**Revelation  
><strong>

The passing of every day should not have made him this anxious. It of course made sense that not knowing what had happened to Dorissa was unsettling to him. But that was not the actual reason that the three days that had passed since the finding of the shipwreck felt like weeks.

No, that responsibility was entirely the huntress'.

Rahsi tested his patience with every passing minute, and Zaladin was beginning to seriously consider his options as to actually murdering the bony little pest and continuing on his own.

On the plus side the horrid blood elf was somewhat helping him realise where and when he drew his limits, but her consistent nagging, complaining and offensive remarks about his person put her in constant danger of losing her life. The death knight could not know for certain if Rahsi had told anyone about her arrangements with him. Assuming she had, killing her would add another city to his banishment list, which was not exactly something he needed.

So he restrained himself from acting rashly even though it meant he had to put up with Rahsi's remarkably irritating character.

They were nearing the coastline now, and he could see the white foam of the waves washing up on the shore not far away below them. Flying south-east had taken them towards warmer climate, and the sun was burning on Zaladin's white face, for once making him question the decision of never wearing a helmet. But at least the lack of actual life in his body prevented him from ever experiencing the term 'to break a sweat'.

"Put it down there," Rahsi ordered, pointing towards a strip of sand on the beach that looked identical to every other little piece of the coastline.

"Why?" Zaladin said absently and halted the frostwyrm midair.  
>"Just do it," the huntress sneered, "assuming of course you hired me for more than looking better than you on the back of this thing," she added nonchalantly.<p>

A deep, almost inaudible snarl rumbled in the death knight's chest region, but he grid his teeth to control his irritation as he steered the frostwyrm down towards the white sands.

There were many things he had not taken into calculation. She might have fallen into the sea from sheer exhaustion; she might even have come across another ship and have been taken aboard. But as there was no way for him to know for certain there was, sadly, no arguing with the huntress' decision; this was as good a place to start as any.

The sand felt warm and soft beneath the soles of his feet when Zaladin descended the saddle. Having freed Rahsi's dizzy lion from its imprisonment in the heavy harness, the death knight reached a hand out towards the huntress who sent him a displeased scowl but nevertheless let him steady her as she climbed down onto the white beach.

"Now," Zaladin said as he leaned against the side of the frostwyrm, crossing his arms and fixing his eyes on the blood elf. "Show me what you can do."

Rahsi snorted cockily. She then motioned for her feline companion to follow her as she took a few steps away from the death knight and scanned the surroundings. She absently stroked her shining platinum hair away from her eyes as she bent down to look closer at the seemingly traceless sand at her feet.

With utmost care, the huntress slowly moved forward, her eyes flickering across the ground before her, her lips murmuring silent calculations as she worked.

Zaladin's eyes narrowed as he watched her examine the area, and he unnecessarily held his breath when she stopped four meters away from him, kneeled down and placed her hand on the smooth sand.

Tracing the surface for abnormalities, Rahsi suddenly dug her fingers into the fine grains and pulled something through the sand and turned it to face the burning sunlight. She turned around and held it out towards Zaladin. "Look familiar?"

The death knight's heart had frozen completely along with the stopping of his digestive system a year ago. And yet he sensed that had he been alive, the organ would have reacted and sent his pulse accelerating through his veins at the sight of what was without a doubt Dorissa's dark leather belt, the fine silver filigree shining through the layer of sandy dust that covered its surface.

"That is hers."

Rahsi's lips twitched in self-satisfaction as she tossed the belt towards the troll and turned to reassume her studying of the surrounding beach.

Having caught it in his left hand, Zaladin's fingers tightened around the item, his thumb tracing the thin filigree threads sown into the fine leather. They had landed literally meters from the spot Dorissa had come ashore; fortune did smile upon them after all.

A deep rumble emitted from the lion's throat, and Zaladin looked up to see the huntress kneel down and trace a slight irregularity ever so carefully with her index finger.

"The tracks have almost been wiped out;" she mumbled quietly. "But it seems there has been little to no wind here. Many days have passed since she was present." Rahsi's brow furrowed as her eyes wandered further up the beach. "The elf was washed ashore here…" the sentence trailed off as she stood up again and moved forward with narrowing eyes. "… and was met by what appears to be a troll, judging by the lack of toes. See?" she said and pointed to an almost invisible footprint in the sand.

"And then?"

Rahsi glanced at Zaladin's feet and measured the size of the prints with her sharp eyes. "Must have been a male. The tracks to the right here are deeper, and I think I see a light imprint of fingers in the sand, too; he picked her up and took her with him."

The death knight fixed the blood elf's eyes intensely. "And in which direction did he leave?"

"He went that way," Rahsi said, raising a bony arm to point directly into the thick vegetation of the Stranglethorn jungle.

"Then that is where we are headed," Zaladin concluded.

Withholding his anxiousness the best he could, the death knight unloaded their packs from the frostwyrm's skeletal back, swung them over his shoulder and motioned for the huntress to move.

"What about that?" Rahsi asked with a toss of her head towards the reanimated creature.

"It will stay within earshot of my call," Zaladin simply said. "Go."

"I could carry some o-"

"No, you could not. Move. Now."

The blood elf hissed something under her breath, 'discriminating' and 'stature' the only audible words as she freed an arrow from her quiver and readied it on her bowstring, and she cautiously began moving forward.

Here and there she briefly paused to kneel among the soft ferns and examine the ground for trace of the troll that had taken the half-elf, but she uttered no words while she worked, a trait Zaladin was very satisfied with. Perhaps he would finally be granted a pause from the sound of her voice.

The jungle climate, however, proved to make up for Rahsi's lack of offensive remarks.

The death knight's skin was meant to resist the extreme colds of Northrend, and the Lich King had not intended him to be wandering beneath the tropical sun of Stranglethorn Vale; no corpse was preserved well in heat, and the walking ones were no different. So Zaladin appreciated the growing density of the canopy as they slowly pressed further into the deep, thriving jungle.

A low rumble sounded in Rahsi's lion's throat as it stopped before him, and the huntress turned her head in the direction her cat was looking. She bent forward and parted a low bush with her left hand. Her brow furrowed as she reached in and pulled a black boot from its nest between the leaves.

"So?" she said and held it up for Zaladin to see.

The death knight nodded.

Rahsi dumped the boot in the bush again and straightened up to scan the surroundings. She walked a few paces on and stopped by a sturdy tree to her right. She kneeled and freed a garment from the roots of the tree and turned towards the death knight as she studied the dark leather accents of the robe she held in her hands. "I'm beginning to see a pattern here," the blood elf stated dryly. "Unless this troll actually wants us to find him I'd guess he's simply a colossal pervert. The naked and abused remains of your elf are probably lying about in a bush somewhere nearby, so I really don't see any point in you bossing me purposelessly around here any longer."

She had barely finished her sentence before she screeched upon feeling Zaladin's hand lock around the neck of her mail shirt and lift her to his eye level against the tree beside her.

The lion growled and attacked, but the death knight sent it flying into the bushes with a precise kick in its ribcage as it pounced.

"You test me so," the death knight murmured, his left tusk boring into the blood elf's soft skin that protected her carotid artery. "You may perhaps want to reconsider that approach."

"Put m- put me down," Rahsi choked out and wriggled against the tree trunk to free herself from the troll's iron grasp.

"Then watch your tongue; there truly is dangerously little reason for me to not break your arms and legs and leave you for the beasts of the jungle at this point." Zaladin released the huntress who fell hard on the ground with a small pained whimper.

"Get up," the death knight snarled, and Rahsi quickly obeyed, carefully shifting her weight from her right ankle that appeared to have suffered a light sprain upon hitting the roots of the tree.

Her lion had returned from its involuntary trip into the undergrowth, and the huntress silently placed her right hand on its back to support her weight as the death knight gestured sharply with his tusks for her to move on.

Finally quiet. Perhaps hurting her was not such a bad idea after all.

* * *

><p><em><em>

_A few more days. Three, perhaps four. Should be enough to get us out._

She had not shared many words with the priestess since the latter had told her story. Dorissa had not expected to feel so sickened by the things Belfrida had shared with her. Perhaps it had not been the content of her story so much as the way she told it; the human loathed herself more than anyone else would ever be able to, and her words had dripped like bitter poison from her tongue, leaving Dorissa with a strange urge to throw up in order to rid herself of the uncomfortable sensation.

But it mattered not. The half-elf did not despise the priestess for what she had done. She certainly did not agree with some of the decisions she had made, but all in all she could not say that she would have acted differently herself. Except perhaps for taking the life of the little girl. That she did not believe she could have gone through with.

But it helped finally understanding why Belfrida had become what she was now. The curse was evidently controlling every aspect of her life, and even though Dorissa would never tell the priestess that she was not to blame for her actions because she had not been herself she did believe that the human part of Belfrida could not be held entirely responsible for the horrors that had befallen her and the people close to her.

As it were, she still wished to free the priestess, and it was not solely because of the promise she had made to her. It was evident that Belfrida needed a way to make amends for her crimes, and if anything Dorissa could at least give her the freedom to do so.

And though her pride had suffered greatly, the human was feeling much better. It seemed to have lifted a weighty burden from her shoulders finally sharing her tale; it was practically visible in her eyes. And topping off that little silver lining Dorissa was glimpsing in the horizon, Mandokir had kept his distance for the three days that had passed since he had last tried to force the priestess to transform. In fact, the red-haired troll had not shown his face at all.

Zanzil had taken advantage of his lack of supervision, and even though his nervous jitters had not ceased entirely, the witch doctor was without a doubt happier and much more confident than Dorissa would have thought him capable of.

He let her out of her cage quite often during the day. He had taken her for little walks just outside the grounds, and he often sat next to the cages for hours talking about everything and nothing. On Dorissa's request he even let Belfrida out once in a while.

The half-elf had learned just about everything she needed to know about the plan the Gurubashi were working on; Zanzil had blabbered far too much for his own good, and after hearing the details of what was stirring inside the ruins Dorissa was extremely relieved the loony witch doctor had not handed Belfrida and her over to Jin'do the Godbreaker. She dared not think of the consequences that particular turn of events would have had. So all in all she was very grateful for, not to mention surprised by how easily Zanzil had given her everything she needed to plan their escape.

She had, however, not entirely foreseen that she would find actual care in her heart for the mental case that was her captor. But he had treated her so well she could not help but warm up to the old fellow, and she pitied him for having to put up with the mockery of the other trolls; Zanzil was undoubtedly a very clever individual, but his lack of sanity interfered with the way he got his message across. And even though she was not going to abandon her plan of using him to escape, Dorissa found herself wishing there was something she could do to help the witch doctor and ease his troubles, if only the slightest bit.

But her own situation did not allow her to worry about such things. Zanzil would be alright; he had managed without her for many years, he could get by after she was gone, too.

_"Zanzil has great neeews!"_ the troll sang happily upon turning around the corner of the path outside the grounds. He carried a bundle of indefinable materials in his arms, smiling widely at Dorissa as he neared the cages.

_"Tell me, Zanzil,"_ Dorissa said with a soft chuckle. There was no need for her to act; the witch doctor's unbelievable enthusiasm had succeeded more than once in making her laugh genuinely during her stay in Zul'Gurub, unfortunate as it was. _"And what are those?"_ she added, pointing towards the fabrics in the troll's arms.

_"Ceremonial garments for elf girl,"_ Zanzil said. _"Zanzil be tellin' Jin'do about Dorissa. Don't she worry now,"_ he quickly said when he noticed her fearful eyes, _"he not be sayin' anythin' about Dorissa speakin' da Zandali, no no. Zanzil only say dat she be useful to da Gurubashi, and Jin'do agree to give Dorissa a chance in da tribe!"_ he said, clapping his hands enthusiastically. He then began murmuring spells to release the bonds from the cage door.

_"So what exactly does that mean, Zanzil?"_ the half-elf asked, her confusion for once not an act.

The witch doctor did not seem to take notice of her question. "_Ya be goin' to like it here,"_ he rambled on as he freed the vines from her cage. _"We be havin' a great feast tonight, and da ritual, ohoho!"_

_"What ritual?"_ Dorissa asked, suddenly alarmed.

Zanzil sighed with sad regret and glanced at the priestess' cage. _"Mandokir be sick of da dark woman. He be wantin' to sacrifice her to da Loa spirits. But Zanzil did good; he could not save da priestess, but Mandokir asked Zanzil to bring him elf girl too, but Zanzil said nooo, Dorissa becomin' one of us now: da first Gurubashi elf! She be participatin' in da ritual tonight. She be wieldin' da blade dat brings wolf woman to her end! And she don't need to worry, Zanzil won't leave priestess dead for long; Zanzil can find great use for her in de afterlife,"_ the troll finished with a happy laugh.

_Oh no._ Dorissa bit her lip. She had to do something, and she had to do it fast.

Opening the door to her cage with a big, contagious smile, Zanzil almost gallantly reached a hand towards the half-elf to help her out of the cage. Standing before the happy troll, she made a quick decision and brought her hands gently to Zanzil's temples. The troll looked at her in confusion.

_"Sleep, Zanzil,"_ she said softly, and then she let her magic flow through her fingertips and into the witch doctor's skull, lulling him into a deep, forced sleep. Zanzil's body fell limply on the ground, but he was so far gone his limbs did not even twitch when he hit the stomped soil.

"What in the name of Azeroth are you doing?" Belfrida hissed. "We can't do this without at least agreeing on when to act?"

"It's time," Dorissa simply said. Stepping over Zanzil's relaxed body, she stretched her aching limbs and rolled her shoulders, delighted to feel them loosening up.

Belfrida sighed and rolled her eyes. "At least put on some of those clothes, in lack of a better word," she said, nodding reluctantly towards the unshapely pile the troll had dropped when he fell. "You'll need them in the nighttime."

"What about you?" Dorissa asked as she picked up a heavy burgundy sarong and began tying it around her hips.

"Wolf-blood runs hot," the woman simply said.

After strapping a questionable harness of dark purple leather over her mistreated shirt and adorning her hips with a beaded and feathered belt, Dorissa hurried to Zanzil's table and rummaged through the many oddities in search of something that could help her set the priestess free. She was in luck: beneath a foul-smelling hide of unthinkable origins she retrieved a long, glinting silver dagger. She grabbed her staff that had been resting against the wall near the table since she had first awoken in the ruins, and she quickly returned to Belfrida's cage where she began cutting through the thick vines that held the door safely closed. It did not take long before the wonderful sound of snapping vines was heard above that of the filing blade.

Opening the cage, Dorissa grasped Belfrida's hand and helped the priestess to her feet. She then attached the dagger to her belt and looked the human in the eye. "Are you ready? I can't say how this will end."

Belfrida shook her head. "I don't care. I'd rather kick it now than spend another minute in there," she said, gesturing towards the open cage. "Let's go."

Sticking close to the wall, the two women quickly left Zanzil's domain which Dorissa had come to understand was known as the Devil's Terrace; Zanzil had given her tours of the ruins and full descriptions of the places he had not taken her. Little had he realised what she was going to do with that knowledge.

"How long will he be out?" Belfrida asked.

"Not for long. Five minutes at best. But it should buy us enough time for us to get too far for him to know where we are."

The priestess nodded. "May I ask you why you decided for both of us that it was time to move?" she then asked as they approached the end of the steep path leading into the heart of Zul'Gurub.

"They were planning a ritual. We both played a rather vital part in it, but it would not have turned out in your favour," Dorissa said, deciding to leave out the details of her own role even though she believed the human would already have figured it out.

"I was to be sacrificed to that Blood God you told me about the other day, I take it?"

"Exactly."

The priestess snorted. "I suppose I should thank you for reacting so quickly then."

"Don't thank me too early; I still have to get us out of here."

Reaching the end of the path, the two women stopped and crouched between the tall ferns, and Dorissa carefully peaked around the corner of the wall.

Two trolls were patrolling on the path straight ahead. To the right, Dorissa spotted two groups: the closest trolls consisted of chatting females. One of them appeared to be giving the three younger ones a lesson in the best way to cook the suspiciously large meat lump she was preparing. But a closer inspection revealed that they were actually discussing which male of the opposite group of relaxing trolls had the best and largest equipment.

With a smirk and a silent snort, Dorissa gestured for Belfrida to come closer. "We need to get past the two patrolling over there," she whispered with a discreet nod towards the two trolls. "I think I can distract them. But we have to be very quick."

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"For now I only need you to follow me."

With utmost caution, Dorissa leaned around the edge of the wall again. She placed her left hand on the soil between the soft ferns and focused on a spot in the middle of the stone path between the two groups of trolls, making sure that the distraction would be visible to the patrolling pair to her left. She then looked back at Belfrida. "Ready?"

The priestess nodded.

Dorissa buried her fingers in the soft ground and sent a jolt of energy through the earth just below the surface. The stones on the spot she had chosen cracked open as three dark treants broke through the ground and proceeded to run past the two groups, flailing their barky arms about and leaving a trail of corrupted and withering flowers in their wake.

The patrol was alerted by the exclamations of fright and surprise uttered by the two groups and rushed to the aid of their peers.

The second they were out of the way, Dorissa motioned for Belfrida to follow her, and then she silently slipped out into the open and hurried across the path. The priestess followed closely behind her, and not many moments passed before they were once again safely concealed by the heavy growths in the jungle ruins.

Halfway past the Temple of Bethekk they were momentarily incapacitated when the tremendous roar of Mandokir's furious voice echoed through the broken empire: _"ZANZIL!"_

"Bugger," Belfrida squeaked, her trembling fingers involuntarily locking around Dorissa's heavy sarong.

"Don't panic now; he took the other way around Jin'do's temple, he doesn't know which way we went," the half-elf whispered quickly, doing her best to maintain a calm voice and not show the priestess how terrified she was herself. The time was not for cowering beneath the tall ferns; they had to get out of the ruins.

"You foresaw this?" the priestess whispered back, recollecting her composure.

"I took it into calculation, which is why we are taking the long way out of here."

"There's a shorter way?"

"Much shorter. But Mandokir does not like to be delayed; I made the assumption that if he came back he would take the short way. I was right."

"Is there anything else you felt was unnecessary to share with me?" Belfrida grumbled as they slowly began moving again, now even more quietly than before.

"Nothing. Everything will be guesswork and luck from here on," Dorissa said, forcing an optimistic tone into the answer.

"Sounds like a brilliant plan."

"I thought you'd like it."

The next twelve minutes felt like hours because of the slow pace they had to keep to avoid being detected. They passed many little huts and settlements of trolls. They were confused, some of them debating whether they should stay or run to see what was going on; none of them seemed to have experienced Mandokir's temper to its full extent, but they sensed that it was essential to stay on his good side, and they did not wish to stand in his way. _No arguing with the wisdom of that decision,_ Dorissa thought grimly as they snuck past another group of trolls. She was, however, not too pleased to see that these were not mere civilians: a group of headhunters and witch doctors was beginning to form. They had evidently concluded from the sound of Mandokir's tone that they were going to be put to use very soon. _Not good._

Until then the two women had continued on, ignoring the signs of activity in the ranks of the warriors within the ruins, but upon rounding the corner of the wall that concealed the Cache of Madness on its other side, Dorissa abruptly halted the priestess with and arm and pulled her down into the tall grass to hide among the many velvety wildflowers.

_"Gurubashi!"_ The southern side of Hakkar's old temple was visible, and on the top level stood Mandokir on the very edge of the stones. His face was contorted in a hellish sneer, and in his right hand he held his fearsome blade; his left was clenched around the back of the whimpering Zanzil's head, brought to his knees by the brute strength of the Bloodlord.

_"Vermin walk among us. Rats, free of their traps, be wanderin' freely within our walls. Do we allow such foul creatures to infect our glorious empire?"_

An uproar of grim answers echoed through the open space around the temple.

_"No, we do not!"_ Mandokir bared his teeth and smiled wickedly. _"Bring dem to me. Do not harm dem; I want to tear dem limb from limb myself!"_

"I'm guessing he told them we escaped?" the priestess whispered.

"Yes, that's about correct."

"Now what do we do?" Belfrida hissed in Dorissa's ear, her breath hot with fear against the half-elf's skin.

Dorissa glanced at the human before looking back towards the temple. "We hurry."

That plan did, however, prove to be more of a challenge than they had foreseen, for the headhunters they had passed not too long ago were gathering and patrolling the paths, and in the distance Dorissa could see them guarding the edges of the suspension bridges, making it impossible to cross without being found out.

Peaking around the corner before the steep path that led to what Dorissa presumed was Mandokir's domain, the two women found that there was no hope of finding a way through in that direction; the path was overlooked by enormous Gurubashi berserkers, blocking the end of the path completely with their massive frames. It was much too risky to attempt an escape through their formation.

"What's your brilliant plan now?" Belfrida whispered, her tone devoid of all its usual arrogance. "Because from my point of view it seems we're pretty much doomed."

"Schh, I'm thinking!" Dorissa's mind felt like rusty clockwork. How in the name of Azeroth were they ever going to get out of there? There was no way they could cross the suspension bridges, they were too heavily guarded. They were stuck on their side of the small river.

_Unless…_

"The river…" she mumbled absently.

"Excuse me?"

"The river! Were you ever taught the ability of levitation?"

"Yes. But – no, you can't be serious?" Belfrida looked completely shocked when it dawned upon her what Dorissa had in mind.

"Oh, I'm serious. If you can get us into the water without making a sound when we breach the surface we may stand a chance at getting past the guards."

"That is bloody hazardous."

"Bloody hazardous is my speciality, dear Bel."

"So we're on pet names now," the priestess stated irritably.

"Seeing that there is a rather large chance we will die very soon, I'd take whatever sign of camaraderie I was offered if I were you," Dorissa said with a light smirk. "Come now."

With utmost cautiousness the two women snuck back down the side of the path they had come from, and creeping on her hands and knees Dorissa led the way towards the little watch huts near the edge of the vertical drop into the small river below them.

The Blood God's old temple lay just before them now, but Mandokir had vanished from the edge and taken Zanzil with him. The Bloodlord would most likely be giving his trolls orders and humiliating Zanzil for letting them escape. But the busier he was, the better their chances.

"Here," Dorissa whispered, settling on the very edge of the earth beneath the supporting poles of one of the huts. "I'll leave my staff here with you. When I am just above the water surface you make me levitate so that I can slowly submerge myself without attracting any attention. Once I'm in the water you will send my staff floating down, got it?"

"What, we're climbing down there?" Belfrida's voice was slightly panicky as she glanced down at the river many meters below them.

"I'll go first," the half-elf said, ignoring the priestess' discomfort. "I'll cross to the other side of the hill over there and wait for you just below the first suspension bridge. When I have rounded the corner of the hill and am out of sight you start climbing at once. If they do detect me I'll make a diversion and keep them distracted long enough for you to get past them. Clear?"

"I'm not going to let you use yourself as bait, Dorissa."

"In the event that this plan should fail you might just have to live with that. Now focus. Ready?" the half-elf asked and laid her staff on the ground before the priestess.

Belfrida huffed. "Ready."

Even though Zanzil had given her food, water and treated her well, the many days spent in the cage without proper exercise should prove to have weakened her greatly. As she clung to the bottom of the poles beneath the hut and let her legs dangle while her feet sought foothold somewhere between the roots sticking out of the uneven hillside, Dorissa felt exactly how much strength her involuntary stay in the ruins had cost her; she was barely able to hold her own weight as she slowly lowered herself down towards the glittering surface of the river.

When her bare toes were less than a foot above the water she looked up at Belfrida and nodded at her. She could almost sense the human's pounding heart when she raised her hand and uttered one silent word of invisible magic.

Dorissa immediately felt the lightheaded sensation that levitation always brought with it wash over her tense limbs, and light as a goose down the half-elf glided through the surface, leaving as little trace in her wake as a mild breeze. When she was submerged to her shoulders she trod water and sent the priestess another careful nod. Belfrida understood, and seconds later Dorissa's staff came floating in little spirals through the air and down towards her.

Catching it, the half-elf sent her ally a silent 'thank you', and with no further words she quietly dove into the cool water and began to swim along the river bottom, her glowing staff held out behind her like the lure of an anglerfish for the priestess to follow.

Her keen eyes guided her in the darkness, and with all her heart she hoped she had not been spotted when she ever so carefully rose through the water and breached the surface soundlessly with her head.

Relieved to find that not a single troll was visible on the suspension bridge from where she was hiding, Dorissa settled on a small projection beneath the water to wait for Belfrida.

It did not take long; a few minutes later the priestess emerged beside her, blinking the water out of her emerald eyes with a fearful look on her face. "And now?" she whispered, her gaze scanning the surroundings above them for approaching enemies.

"We need to get up there," Dorissa said with a light toss of her head towards the opposing hillside. "I think the easiest way would be to climb up those rocks over there," she said absently, turning her head towards the miniature waterfall to their left; behind the liquid curtain was a wall of rough rocks and stones that could serve them as footing when they ascended to higher ground.

"But what about the trolls?" Belfrida whispered. "They're positioned somewhere up there just beside the bridge, aren't they?"

"They are… But they won't be for long. Swim towards the waterfall. In a few seconds you'll hear a lot of noise, but pay no attention to it; leave the trolls to worry about that. I'll join you shortly, and we'll climb the rocks together, alright?"

The priestess did not appear overly fond of the idea, but she seemed to have decided it was no use arguing; they did not exactly have much of a choice.

She quickly made for the waterfall, and Dorissa turned around and slammed her fist into the hillside. Up on the flat ground near their side of the suspension bridge a cluster of mushrooms in toxic neon colours sprouted from the soil. They grew to the size of large cats, and without further warning they exploded on the path, setting fire to the nearby ferns and blossoms and causing the trolls on the opposite side of the bridge to run from their posts to see what had happened, crossing the wobbly planks of the bridge under loud outbursts of confusion.

"Now," Dorissa hissed as she made for the waterfall to aid Belfrida in climbing up the slippery rocks.

The water atop the waterfall was far shallower than the river below them, and finding themselves submerged to their hips, the two women quickly waded through the water and began climbing the slope to the right of the waterfall.

The soil was loose, but not dangerously so, and within seconds they had made it up on flat ground and found shelter behind a low piece of crumbling wall near the side of the suspension bridge. Their front was covered by one of two dark pillars the sides of the path, and they allowed themselves to rest for a minute in the protective darkness of its shadow.

"How far are we?" Belfrida whispered, panting slightly as she caught her breath from the final sprint up the hillside.

"One more bridge and about fifteen to twenty meters, then we are free," Dorissa said under her breath, listening to the sound of the trolls arguing on the other side of the bridge behind them. "Let's go."

She stood up and grasped Belfrida's hand to pull her up on her feet, and together they slipped around the pillar before them to continue their dangerous quest.

_"Such naivety."_

Dorissa gasped and stopped in the middle of the area between the two bridges, spreading her arms out to shield Belfrida behind her.

Mandokir stepped out from behind a tall tree to their right, his eyes cold and cruel. Zanzil reluctantly followed behind him, his face turned downward in sadness.

"Did ya truly believe dat ya would succeed?" the Bloodlord continued, now switching to the Common tongue for the first time Dorissa had heard.

"I had my hopes," the half-elf said flatly. She could feel the priestess trembling behind her, but whether it was from fear or rage she could not determine.

Mandokir chuckled coolly. "Come to me, my tribesmen," he called, and an impossibly large group of trolls emerged from the surrounding vegetation, axes and staves held high in victorious amusement.

"What are we going to do?" Belfrida hissed frantically.

"I have absolutely no idea." Dorissa's eyes sought Zanzil's but the witch doctor had taken shelter behind some of the larger trolls in the right side of the half-circle the Gurubashi had formed around the two females. The half-elf slowly backed away, pushing Belfrida back towards the pillar behind them.

"Do ya know," Mandokir drawled, nonchalantly raising his blade as he slowly began to move closer, "what I like to do wit' unruly prisoners?"

"I do not. But I have a feeling we're about to find out." In that moment Dorissa's mind stopped churning. She rarely found herself in a situation she was unable to take control of one way or another. But this was different. There were too many of them, and they were too strong for her to battle them. Their hopes had been pinned on her being able to get them safely out without being detected. And having failed to do so, she had no alternative left. The voodoo was thick in the air, rendering her completely unable to take flight. None of her abilities were useful in that moment; her animalistic shapes were strong, but not strong enough to take on all of the trolls at once, and they were not going to let her set the pace for any confrontation ahead. Both she and Belfrida were practically defenseless. There was really nothing left to hope for.

_Zaladin, my love._ If only she could spend one more moment in his arms. Tell him once more how she felt and see that wicked smile lighten his features one last time.

As tears began to well up in her eyes in that moment of utter despair, a white light shone just before her, a light so bright it should have been painful to her keen eyes. And yet it was not, but soothing in its cool glow, and somehow Dorissa felt connected to it and calmed by its presence, her heart rate slowing down as she relaxed her tense shoulders and straightened up from her protective stance in front of the priestess.

And then a voice rang in her mind like a glass bell on a cool, moonlit night, sending light chills through her limbs: _"Take my strength, child."_

And it felt natural, almost predestined to slowly raise her right hand and reach out towards the light, her fingers barely touching its shimmering, almost watery surface.

* * *

><p>"Dorissa, what is it?" Belfrida hissed quietly, her eyes flickering from the seemingly entranced half-elf to the trolls closing in on them.<p>

But the other woman did not answer. It looked as if her mind had been taken to another world, and there was no one present in her eyes when she raised her hand and touched something invisible to Belfrida's eye.

An explosion of light blasted through the ruins, momentarily blinding the priestess and the trolls. Outbursts of surprise and fright were heard among their captors, and Belfrida raised an arm to shield her eyes against the sting of the white light.

When the light began to fade she peeked out through her lids and gasped when she saw that the light sought Dorissa, its center enveloping her outstretched right hand and flowing up her arm, swirling like a miniature tornado as it consumed more and more of the half-elf's body. Her hair was whipping through a wind that was not there, her eyes glowing more and more intensely, wide open and empty. Her entire being was aglow, her limbs shimmering with cool light, and Belfrida was frightened to discover that she could see directly through Dorissa and into the confused eyes of the Bloodlord on the other side.

Ever so slowly, the half-elf gracefully lowered her arm and placed her right hand on the human's shoulder. Her cool fingers sent a surge of energy through the priestess' skin, finding its way through her body and into the very core of her being, into that little part of herself she kept safely locked away from the world.

And somehow without recognising whatever force the half-elf was conjuring, Belfrida knew that the sensation of utter calm and serenity that washed through that very center and weaved a protective barrier around it meant that she needed not be afraid anymore. She had nothing to fear from her other side: the curse was contained.

And yet she felt that she could break through the shield with her conscious, drawing on the curse whenever she wanted to; she was the mistress, not the wolf. Tears of unending gratitude welled up in her eyes, and a smile spread on Belfrida's lips, sending a feeling of sincere happiness through her being for the first time in months.

A strange shimmering sound like the eerie ringing of a crystal bell filled the air, and the whiteness of the light toned down at last, leaving Dorissa in a lightly glowing ghostly state beside her. The half-elf's eyes had not closed at any point, and still they remained open, filled and spilling over with a heavenly light from another world.

No one moved for the next few seconds. Belfrida could sense that the trolls were cautious, some of them afraid, all waiting for someone to make a move.

"Enough of dis," Mandokir finally snarled, breaking the tense silence. He drew his blade and took a step forward, straightening up to his full height.

But as he raised his blade to strike Dorissa, the half-elf brought her hands up, formed a series of weaving movements in the air, and a powerful blast of energy shot from her palms, hitting the Bloodlord in the chest and blasting him through the air directly into his entourage of trolls, four of them falling beneath his weight and the force of the blow that spread like a shockwave from the point of impact.

"No more evil will befall us under your hand, Mandokir." The words came from Dorissa's lips, but her voice was somehow mixed with that of someone else. It rang through the ruins, a whisper, a song and a roar combined, and it seemed she somehow spoke both Common and Zandali at once.

"I be takin' no orders from ya," the Bloodlord spat, quickly getting back on his feet and ignoring the complaints from the trolls he had knocked over.

But Dorissa did not respond to the red-haired troll. Instead she slowly turned her head and let her empty eyes fall on Zanzil who was cowering behind a headhunter in the right side of the half-circle.

"I am sorry, Zanzil," she said, her voice swirling through the air and landing with an almost visible caress on the witch doctor's cheek. "Thank you for everything, my friend."

_As if he wasn't in enough trouble already,_ Belfrida thought to herself with a twitch of a smile on her lower lip.

She was startled when Dorissa's layered voice sounded as clearly in her mind as if she had spoken aloud: _He will not be harmed; no longer will he be a slave to Mandokir's will._

And the half-elf raised her hand, summoning a floating orb of liquid light in her palm, and with a graceful turn of her hand she sent it through the air. It landed like a drop on the surface of the enormous sapphire around Zanzil's neck, and the light was consumed by the gem, glowing beneath the surface like a warning to anyone who would touch the troll.

Dorissa then turned towards Belfrida. "Come," she said, and the human stepped closer.

"Restrain them!" Mandokir shouted, and his witch doctors immediately began weaving their spells, dark greens and violets slithering through the air to bind the two women to the ground.

But they had no effect on Dorissa; she simply raised her hand and sent another shockwave of energy through the half-circle, efficiently eliminating the hexes snaking her way. And with no effort she broke the bonds of the voodoo around them, sprouting a magnificent pair of ghostly, feather-dripping wings from her shoulder blades.

"Ha!" Zanzil exclaimed, glaring triumphantly at the Bloodlord. "Zanzil told Mandokir, but Mandokir never listen," he said, stretching his skill with the Common tongue to its full extent.

"Silence!" Mandokir growled, thinking madly to find a way to break the half-elf.

He did not succeed.

She should not have been able to, but somehow Dorissa picked up Belfrida in her arms as if her weight was no greater than that of a single straw in the grass. And then she kicked off from the ground, the wind rushing through Belfrida's hair as they gained height, and the sound of Mandokir's furious voice below them quickly died out as they flew, rising above the treetops to the light of the orange sky for the first time since they had been captured. Never had the cool air of afternoon felt so loving on Belfrida's face, and never had the taste of freedom warmed her heart so greatly.

* * *

><p>Posted at last. I feel tremendously terrible about not updating for so long, but it was necessary for me to take a break from writing to focus on the last sprint up to the exams that are closing in on me like rabid hounds, in lack of less dramatic imagery.<br>Well, finally our heroines have escaped! And Zaladin did not make it to Zul'Gurub in time, but let us wait and see what happens on his journey.  
>Quite the turn of events in the end, if I may say so myself; I do believe you will have figured out to whom the eerie voice and supernatural powers belong, but in case you have not I am afraid you are in for quite the wait to have that question answered.<br>I am sadly still not able to say when exactly I will be posting again, but the odds of it being Sunday are extremely low at this point. You will all have to bear with me for breaking my pattern so, but I have no choice at the moment.  
>Anyway, lots of love to you all with special little thanks to weirdCOMBO who was concerned about my wellbeing; I hope I have not scared everybody away with my long absense, haha.<br>I hope to post again in not too long. Enjoy for now, my lovelies!


	12. Perception

**Perception**

The crackling of flames was the first sound she heard when she opened her eyes. A little campfire lit up the center of the small clearing whose ground she found herself lying on. The velvet blanket of night had enveloped the jungle, and even her elf eyes had trouble distinguishing shapes in the blackness outside the warm light of the flames. Yet in spite of not being able to see clearly, Dorissa knew that this was not the Zul'Gurub vegetation she saw at the edge of the small clearing. There were no ruins in sight, no bars around her. They had made it. But how? And where were they?

Her eyes scanned the surroundings again. A torn blouse and a pair of filthy bloomers lay on the other side of the campfire. Her brow furrowed, and she made a mental addition to her train of thought: _Where is Belfrida?_

Dorissa tried hard to recall what exactly had happened when they attempted to escape Zul'Gurub. But her head ached, and recollection of the events appeared to have been temporarily wiped from her conscious and replaced with a light so strong her eyes twitched at the thought of it. She sighed and shoved the questions aside for a moment. She could always ask the priestess when she returned from wherever she had gone.

A limp sound of something being dragged along the ground caught Dorissa's attention, and a twig snapped somewhere between the trees on the opposite side of the fire. The half-elf's head turned in the direction of the noise, her heart pounding; she was certain that something very large that moved on all fours was headed towards her.

Her fingers quickly grasped her staff that lay on the ground next to her, and she turned and leaned against a tree behind her for support as she waited for the unknown creature to reveal itself. She was in no shape for battle with any of the inhabitants of the jungle, but she would fight if she had to.  
>The ferns parted on the other side of the fire, and an enormous, hairy beast stalked into the light. Its jaws were locked around the tail of its prey, a river crocolisk whose neck had been broken.<p>

The creature dumped its burden on the ground, shook its long, black mane and stood up to its full height on its hind legs.

Dorissa stared at the beast, completely bewildered. Then the worgen turned its head towards her and met her eyes, a small reassuring smile playing on its black lips and in its enormous, emerald eyes.

The half-elf's eyes narrowed. "… Belfrida?"

The worgen let out a rough snort. Its fur dropped from its body, and its bones cracked and groaned as it returned to its normal height and size, and within seconds the priestess stood before her, a half-smirk on her dark lips as she cocked a brow at the other woman. "Indeed," Belfrida said, reaching for her clothes on the ground to cover up her bare figure. "I hope this is edible," she added with a toss of her head towards the crocolisk. "I've no idea what it is, but it looked tasty in the water."

Dorissa snickered. "It is." A thought then occurred to her. "When did you become able to control the curse?"

The human looked at her in confusion while her slender fingers began re-braiding her long hair. "You gave me that gift?"

"I… What?"

Belfrida's brow furrowed, but she then seemed to understand. "You don't remember what happened in Zul'Gurub, do you?"

The half-elf shook her head slowly as she tried to recall. "We were surrounded… And then everything was lit up somehow. I reached out to touch the light... That is the last I remember."

"Well, it would certainly have been odd if you didn't remember that; it practically blinded everyone around you. And I must confess that I have no idea exactly what it was you did. Something impossibly powerful happened when you touched that light you saw. It exploded everywhere around you, and we were all but literally blown away by the sheer force. You seemed possessed by a form of energy from another world. Somehow you transferred some of that energy to me and locked up the curse, preventing it from lashing out without my consent. You kept all the trolls at bay and grew wings, and then you lifted me up and carried us out of the ruins," Belfrida finished, her eyes carefully searching the other woman's face for a reaction.

Dorissa simply stared at her in disbelief. "But… I don't… That can't be right?"

"I take it you haven't noticed it yet then?"

"Noticed what?"

Belfrida chewed her lip, now looking slightly nervous. "Look at your right hand."

Confused, the half-elf lifted her hand and looked at her palm. "I don't see anything?"

"Hold it towards the flames and turn it in the light."

Following the instructions, Dorissa now saw what the priestess was referring to: the skin of her hand was covered in shimmering, delicate markings. The pattern looked a little like lace painted onto her skin in the shapes of eerie celestial bodies, silvery watercolour moons and stars encircling one another on her pale skin.

Pushing up her sleeve, she found that the pattern continued up her arm, and with slight alarm Dorissa pulled off the dodgy harness and her blouse, exposing her upper body in the light of the fire.

Her entire right side was covered in the unearthly markings. A glance at her bare feet revealed that it was unnecessary to strip herself of the sarong; they definitely continued down her right leg, ending on her foot.

She stood up, and turning around to let the light fall on her back, Dorissa twisted and turned her head to see as much of her back as she could. Normally she would have been able to see one of the sharp points of the star-shaped scar on her back, but there was nothing within her sight but the strange painting of shimmering patterns on her skin.

"Are there lines on my back?" she asked, looking up at the priestess.

"Lines?"

"Yes, in the shape of an eight-point star."

Belfrida stepped closer and examined the half-elf's back, carefully placing a finger on the strange new decoration. "No, no star."

"But that's impossible…" She desperately ran her hand up and down the skin of her back, but the scar was gone, every mark the runic icicles had left erased from her body. "What _is_ this?!"

The human shook her head apologetically. "I have no idea. I noticed it after we landed here; you lost consciousness and collapsed the second your feet touched the ground. It must have appeared at some point during the happenings inside Zul'Gurub. Are you completely certain you remember nothing at all besides that light?"

Dorissa closed her eyes tightly and rubbed her forehead in frustration, concentrating hard to recall something, anything that might reveal what in the name of Azeroth had happened to her body.

And something did materialise, but somehow the half-elf knew that telling Belfrida would bring her no answers. She sighed roughly and spoke anyway: "Did you hear a voice?" she asked, turning towards the other woman again.

The priestess studied her face. "A voice?"

"Yes," Dorissa said, slowly sitting down by the fire again. "A female voice, I believe. Said something about… Oh, what was it, I can't recall…" It felt as if a barrier of wet cotton wool had wrapped itself around her memories. Everything was fuzzy and heavy, and it was somehow difficult moving around inside her head.

Strength. Something about strength. Giving? … No, taking. "Take… Take my strength, child."

"Child? And you said you were what, three hundred and twenty-seven years old?"

"Twenty-four," the half-elf corrected as she slowly pulled her shirt and harness back on. "And I never claimed it made sense, Bel."

"Indeed, you didn't." Belfrida looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, who do you think it was then?" she asked. "Your mother?"

"No. My mother is long gone. Had her spirit decided to come haunt me randomly I highly doubt her voice would have sounded like that."

"And you're sure it wasn't your own voice in your head somehow? Not that I believe you've gone bonkers or anything like that," the priestess quickly added in a most diplomatic manner, "but hearing voices is usually not such a good sign."

"I'm sure," the half-elf said dryly. "It sounded… otherworldly. It was beautiful and melodious, clear and soft…" Something about hearing herself speak the adjectives that best fit the sound of the voice felt strangely unsettling, as if she already knew who the mystery female was. Or was supposed to know. But something about it also made her feel that she did not wish to know. That it would not make things easier.

And then the priestess uttered the words that made Dorissa realise exactly why she felt that way: "I'm aware it's a long shot... But what about that goddess you spoke of?"

It felt as if her heart dropped several inches and landed with a splash in her stomach. "That… can't be. Elune is not real."

"But what if she is? Is your entire society not built around the assumption that she is?" Belfrida said, a strange sort of critical excitement creeping into her almost neutral tone.

"The elven society is. Where I live it is pretty much the opposite."

"Well, it does seem that you're the minority in this matter, does it not?"

"Belfrida, it's not an option for me to start believing now just because our situation is a little unfortunate," Dorissa said, sitting down across from the human with a light sigh. "If that was all it took I'd not have stopped believing in the first place."

"But why exactly isn't it an option? I must say I find you rather spoiled for simply refusing the thought of something watching over you right now," the priestess said, defiantly crossing her arms. "I never had the luxury of a choice myself. Would it really be so awful if in fact you were wrong?"

"Yes! Of course it would, don't you see? Everything I am today is built on the foundation of being alone. _If _she is in fact real it would mean that not only has she given me _no_ sign of that fact for over three hundred years, she has also ignored my every call and desperate plea for help for as long as I have lived!"

"She did not ignore you today," the human pointed out with a challenging expression on her exotic face.

"I am not having this discussion. You know nothing of the elven beliefs, nor do you actually know enough about my life to have a justifiable opinion about this subject. So what makes you think yourself a better judge than me?"

"Exactly what you just said. Unlike you I can look at this issue objectively and not in the dark, depressing light you seem to have cast on it."

"Dark and depressing, that came from _you_ of all people?! Well, you certainly know what you're talking about, I'll give you that," Dorissa sneered, suddenly irritated that she had sat down so that she was unable to glare are the other woman at an even level.

"I have _perfectly_ valid reasons for not being all rosy and cheerful, and you know that," the priestess said, her voice hard. "But seeing that we're free now and you might just have gained a whole new perspective to your existence I really don't see how you want to justify this ridiculous determination to be miserable."

"I was miserable when I did believe in her! I have no intention of going back to that. Can't you understand at all?"

"No. No, I can't. Because unlike you I do long for the blissful ignorance that used to be my life. I would still have been happily married, I'd have been safe and content 'till the end of my bloody boring days. I'd give anything to have that back."

"I know, Bel. But we are very different, you and I. I know that just because we disagree it doesn't mean you're wrong. I just can't make myself consider the possibility that you aren't. You have no idea how disastrous that would be for me, for my entire life as it is now."

"I understand what you're saying. I just can't sympathise with it," Belfrida concluded.

"That's your problem, not mine." Dorissa studied her hand while the silence of an abruptly ended argument settled between them. "Can you remove these?" she then asked, glancing at the priestess whose expression turned reluctant.

"I highly doubt it," the human simply said.

"Will you try?"

Belfrida sighed in frustration, but she sat down on her knees before Dorissa and gestured for her to lean closer. With her slender fingers she traced the back of the half-elf's hand to examine the pattern. She then sent a warm stream of healing energies through her hand and into the other woman's skin.  
>But instead of vanishing like they were intended to, the strange markings absorbed the energy that was pumped into them, and a wild burst of light washed up Dorissa's arm and down the whole right side of her body.<p>

The two women gasped and stared at the now brightly glowing markings, the priestess in wonder and the half-elf in fright.

"I've never seen anything like this before in my life," Belfrida said quietly as they watched the shining of the light slowly fade away.

"Neither have I," Dorissa mumbled. "But whatever it is I certainly hope it isn't permanent."

* * *

><p>Nighttime in the jungle was much more bearable for the death knight's skin than the basking heat of the sun. The light of day was unnecessary to his eyes and often presented in a hindering rather than helpful manner, so now, enveloped in darkness, Zaladin could see his surroundings clearly without difficulty, the distinct shapes of every leaf and every root in the ground visible in greatest detail, a perk to being born a being of the wild and risen a creature of the dark. A living troll's eyesight was very sharp, but the runes glowing within his empowered his vision, allowing him to clearly absorb everything that went by around him with very little effort.<p>

But he took little notice to his surroundings. With every step bringing him closer to finding Dorissa there was no point in trying to force himself to focus on the present rather than the future he was unable to imagine what would bring. His usually so dominating rational side told him that it was completely pointless and did him no good clinging to the thought of something he could not actually see before him. But rationality was not an option. Rationality wanted him to succumb to the very likely theory that Dorissa was no longer among the living. But he could not afford to think that.  
>Rahsi had barely communicated with him since he had rather physically put her in place, and the words she did say were - to his tremendous satisfaction - strictly limited to the relevance of the task she had been given.<p>

But even if she was quiet, Zaladin knew that the huntress had to be thinking exactly the same as he was.

The trail they were following had taken them deep into the jungle. They had passed many small ruins, fought their way through nigh impenetrable walls of vegetation and crossed the river that flowed into the dark waters of Lake Nazferiti. The tracks were well concealed in the undergrowth, but there was no mistake as to where they went. Unless they suddenly took an unmotivated and sharp turn to the right, the troll that had taken Dorissa had without a doubt brought her to the crumbling remains of the once so great Gurubashi capital, Zul'Gurub. And fallen or not, the Gurubashi tribe was not something Zaladin had any great desire to cross. At this point, however, it did not look like he was given a choice. He had never set foot anywhere near the ruins, but even so the death knight sensed that they were close.

His theory was confirmed when Rahsi suddenly raised a bony, mail-clad hand to halt his approach. She glanced up at him and held a finger to her lips before she carefully pushed aside a few particularly heavy ferns to clear the view of what was ahead.

A worn path lay before them flanked by two great cobra statues rising high in the moonlight, marking the beginning of what Zaladin knew would be the entrance of the capital.

"How do you want to proceed?" the huntress asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the empty path ahead.

"We keep to the trail."

"But Zaladin, look at the tracks; they're mixing with dozens of other trails. This troll is not alone, and going in directly we'll practically be ringing their doorbell! There must be a safer way in. Perhaps we can gain access from above by climbing the wall to the-"

"No. That way we would lose the trail and spend precious time looking for it inside. We enter cautiously, but we do so as he did."

Rahsi snorted. "Whatever," she said irritably, but she and her lion followed his lead as the death knight soundlessly began the ascent of the path.

The infamous ruins were dark and seemingly unguarded when they reached the final steps up to the entrance. Zaladin quietly peeked around the corner of the last wall. He was not certain what he had expected, but he did not feel reassured at all. No guards in sight did not necessarily mean that it was safe to let your guard down, and so the death knight never did. Something about the abandoned atmosphere did not seem right. He sensed that something was stirring inside the ruins that stood before him, grey and ominous in the moonlight.

"Do you see anything?" Rahsi whispered. He could see her fel green eyes nervously flickering from his face to the darkness around the ancient jade statues behind them, alertly observing for hidden enemies between the figures.

"Nothing," Zaladin whispered back. "But that does not mean that there is nothing there."

"Well, obviously," the blood elf said, some of her old attitude creeping back into her voice. "Knowing for certain would make a fairly crappy foundation for an ambush, don't you think?"

"I will not hesitate to hurt you again," Zaladin simply murmured as he slipped around the corner and cautiously moved along the wall of the narrow entrance.

Upon stepping through the opening and into the ruins, it became clear that pursuing the troll that had Dorissa would no longer be so simple. The tracks were invisible on the hard surface of the worn stones on which they stood, and a quick examination of the soil at the foot of the nearby steps that led onto the path revealed that it had been trodden flat by literally hundreds of other trolls quite recently. The death knight did not like the look of it, and he sensed that the blood elf at his side tensed, too. She quietly grasped her bow and readied an arrow on the string.

A low, guttural rumble to their left caught their attention: Rahsi's lion had quietly trudged away from them, stopping at the edge of the low stone plateau. It bent down and sniffed the ground below, and with an eager huff it turned its head again and looked at Rahsi.

The huntress followed and examined the spot the great cat had marked. "Good job," she whispered sweetly, lovingly scratching the beast's enormous mane.

Zaladin's lip twitched impatiently. "What is it?" he asked irritably.

"He found the tracks," the huntress said quietly, sending him a hateful glance. "So you'd better be a little more thankful."

"I do not do 'thankful', regrettably," the death knight said indifferently, motioning for Rahsi to get moving.

"Tch. Stereotype," she snorted, but she obeyed and soundlessly resumed the pursuit of Dorissa's captor.

The unknown troll had followed a narrow path that led them past an empty watch hut and towards a little lake at the base of a small waterfall to their left. The lake water was held back by a formation of slippery rocks, but it flowed on through the cracks between them and fell steeply down to their right, crashing into the small river far below.

"Don't touch the water," the huntress said as she followed her light-footed feline companion out onto the wet rocks. "It's teaming with frenzies."

A glance at the dark surface revealed nothing, but Zaladin had no intention of question the blood elf's intuition; his own told him not to.

They continued along the narrow path on the other side, keeping as close to the outer wall of the ruins as possible. Occasionally they passed more of the brittle watch huts along the edge of the hill. Inside a few of them they spotted groups of slumbering Gurubashi, but as they posed no immediate threat to their task they quietly agreed upon ignoring their presence.

It did not take long before they could see the end of the green path ahead. It met with a wider and more worn trail that continued to the right as was visible through the many ferns and huts alongside it. Their tracks, however, continued for a few meters and then made a turn to the left and disappeared up the steep hill around the corner of the wall.

Voices to their right made them halt, and Zaladin took cover among the tall growths near the wall while Rahsi carefully crept closer in the cover of the darkness to assess the situation.

"What do you see?" the death knight whispered, his eyes fixed on the huntress' profile.

"Four trolls. Big ones. Next to the hut over there," she said, not taking her eyes off the spot where the trolls were positioned.

"Guards?"

"No. Civilians. But they'll see us, that's for sure."

"Take them out."

He was pleasantly surprised when the huntress did not as much as cock a brow at the order. She simply raised her bow and brought a second arrow to the string. Aiming with impressive precision she fired them both at once, and with lightning speed she snatched two more from the quiver and repeated the action.

The first two hit their targets, and a muffled outburst of surprise was silenced by the second pair, leaving the night once again disturbingly quiet beneath the heavy canopy.

"The path is clear," Rahsi said, lowering her bow but keeping it close at hand.

Zaladin nodded. "Move."

Passing the lifeless bodies that had had their skulls penetrated by the blood elf's swift arrows, the two reached the very corner of the wall. Rahsi carefully leaned closer to sneak a glance up the path. "It's no use. I can't see what's up there. It's too long and steep."

"We will tread lightly then," the death knight said and began to move, but the huntress held out her arm to stop him before he could continue the motion. She then kneeled down and whispered in her lion's ear: "You know what to do."

The feline immediately straightened up, and with a flick of the tail it silently disappeared around the corner and ascended the path.

"He'll be our eyes," Rahsi explained, her eyes closed in extreme concentration.

"Do you see through him?"

"No. Our bond lets me sense the world through his mind when I focus. I know what he sees through the feelings he shows me."

It made little sense to the death knight, but he chose not to comment. That lion was probably the only creature in the world capable of living alongside a person like the blood elf, so to some extent he did understand it, if only in the sense that Dorissa represented the same to him. In truth it was unexplainable, and he concluded that that was the reason the huntress' explanation was not quite tangible to his mind. Not that it really mattered anyway.

Zaladin's head snapped up, his attention suddenly caught. He had heard it, his ears had never deceived him; it was the unmistakable sound of a throwing axe being drawn. "Call your cat back," he murmured.

"Hm?" Rahsi opened her eyes groggily and looked up at him. She did not seem to have paid any attention to him for several minutes.

"Call. Your cat back. Now." But it was too late.

_"Intruders!"_ The alarm was yelled in Zandali, and Rahsi did not understand, but Zaladin read from the sudden pained crack in her expression that the worst had already happened. "No… NO!" The tiny elf screeched and jumped out from their shelter among the ferns, ignoring every precaution they had taken to avoid being detected. She sprinted up the path towards the top of the path to come to the aid of her lion, and Zaladin looked around the corner just in time to see her caught by the arm by an enormous troll who lifted the squirming elf up and carried her into the grounds atop the hill and out of sight.

Zaladin moved quickly to follow them. Two other trolls were running down towards him, and the death knight drew his blade and hissed in Zandali: _"You will let me pass. Now."_

The trolls stopped and glared at him with great hostility. _"Who ya be?"_ one of them asked.

_"That is not of your concern,"_ Zaladin said and pushed them out of the way, but he did not make it further than one step before he caught the sound of a dagger being grasped behind him, and he spun around and raised his blade just in time to block the strike the troll on his left was about to deal. He twisted his sword and disarmed the troll by severing his hand from his arm.

The death knight's green-skinned opponent growled in agonised fury at the sight of radius and ulna shining white through the blood that oozed from the arteries in his lower arm and spilled upon the ground, a scarlet puddle bathed in the white light of the moon above.

The other troll ignored his wounded ally and attacked, agilely dodging the next swing of Zaladin's blade. The Gurubashi raised his axe and managed to bury it in the death knight's chest piece. The plate held, but the dent the axe caused was deep enough to severely hinder his freedom of moment because of the strain it put on the muscles beneath.

With an irritated snarl, Zaladin used the seconds the other troll spent raising his axe for the next strike to plunge his sword through his opponent's gut. The blade pierced the green skin and came out on the other side, and the death knight wrenched it around and gave the troll a forceful kick to remove his struggling body from his sword.

When he entered the grounds, things were already spiraling out of his grasp. The huntress had been forced down on her knees. She was sobbing loudly, her arms wrapped around the lifeless body of her lion that appeared to have had its throat slit by the laughing headhunter who had his bloody blade held to Rahsi's neck. A half-circle of Gurubashi had formed around the scene, some of them carrying torches. A bonfire was being lit, and in a matter of seconds the night sky was transformed from a velvet blanket of stars to a thick, smoke-filled nothingness above them.

He did not make it far into the grounds before an alarm was shouted somewhere behind him, and the many trolls turned his way. Six other headhunters raised their axes, and within seconds Zaladin was surrounded from all sides, forced to parry the cascade of weapons that were hurled his way.

He was much faster and more skilled than they were. But they were many, and their brute strength outweighed his, however reluctantly he had to admit it. This was developing into a distinctly boring situation.

_"Stop! What be all dis commotion?"_ The voice came from the opening to the grounds. An eccentric-looking witch doctor entered in a quick stride, pushing his way through the cluster of trolls that were battling the death knight.

He forced one of the headhunters to step aside, but by doing so he placed himself directly where Zaladin's next strike fell. Out of reflex he raised his left arm to block the sword.

The metal hit his skin and should have cut through flesh and bone, but instead an explosion of light erupted from the point of impact and hurled Zaladin through the air, his body crashing against the crumbling wall behind him.

The death knight's ears were ringing, and momentarily blinded by the brightness of the light before him he was unable to react in time when two massive trolls grasped his upper arms and pulled him to his knees, forcing his head down. He felt the cool edges of two axes rested against his neck just before his vision returned.

The first thing he saw was the troll who had somehow blasted him senseless. The stranger stood above him, studying his face with a furrowed brow. _"Who ya be?"_ he asked, his eyes narrowing in thought.

_"That is irrelevant,"_ Zaladin hissed sharply. _"We,"_ he continued with a toss of his tusks in the direction of the still sobbing huntress who lay hugging her dead companion on the ground, _"seek a female of the night elf race. We have reason to believe she was brought to Zul'Gurub not long ago. Do you know of whom I speak?"_

_"Ohh Zanzil, he be lookin' for de elf girl ya lost,"_ one of the other trolls said, and a couple of the others snickered condescendingly.

_"Shut up!"_ the witch doctor snarled, pointing his claw-like index finger at the mocking trolls.

_"Where is she?"_ Zaladin asked, forcing patience into his voice and focusing only on the troll who was apparently Zanzil the Outcast.

Zanzil looked down at him with an irritated expression. _"Elf and human priest girl escaped yesterday."_ He reached in through the many peculiar charms dangling around his neck and from his headpiece and pulled out a necklace familiar to Zaladin. The large glittering sapphire looked completely misplaced in the troll's hand. _"Said she was Zanzil's friend. Help Zanzil she did. De mean Gurubashi can't touch Zanzil now. But she lied to Zanzil, tricked Zanzil, treacherous elf she be," _he mumbled absently.

Zaladin repressed a triumphant laugh and simply nodded.

In spite of having studied his face for quite a while it appeared as if Zanzil had only just noticed to whom he was talking. _"Gurubashi can't harm Zanzil. What…"_ His eyes narrowed in concentration again as he took in Zaladin's appearance. They lingered on the faded black mark on the death knight's chin. He squatted down and reached out, and without hesitation he tapped the spot with his index finger, his lips parting as he whispered something inaudible. Zaladin cocked a brow, not fully comprehending what was happening.

_"Ohohoho, can it be? Dis be too good to be true!"_ Zanzil then exclaimed, his eyes popping. _"Wait riiiight here,"_ he said eagerly, seemingly forgetting that Zaladin had little choice.

Before the death knight could ask, the former Outcast had half-skipped out of the circle and away from them. Some of the other trolls had fallen into conversation with each other, some were still glaring at Zaladin or eyeing the crying huntress hungrily.

Zanzil's arms were full of oddities when he returned. He was not alone either, and the face of the troll behind him was familiar to Zaladin from the many tablets he had studied out of boredom after being risen. _"Bloodlord Mandokir, I presume. How are you alive, I wonder."_

_"Had a little luck convincin' a priestess to quicken mah return to da flesh. Da same priestess who escaped along with yer elf, unfortunately,"_ Mandokir said with a dark smirk. _"Now, _Zaladin…_"_ Surprise surged through the gathered Gurubashi. Even Rahsi looked up. She did not understand the language, but Zaladin was sure she knew what had just happened. The death knight himself narrowed his eyes.

_"How much do ya remember from before ya died?"_

* * *

><p>Bet no one expected that. Or perhaps you did. I cannot say.<br>So this is a load of quite confusing and slightly disturbing information for my poor characters, but as you can probably guess this is just the tip of the iceberg.  
>I cannot apologise enough for the long wait. This chapter has been lacking everything but a beginning and an ending for months, and I was simply unable to mentally connect those two parts. But now I have, so rejoice!<br>This sadly does not mean that I will get back into a predictable pattern of posting, but I am definitely finding my way back into the habbit. And I am loving it!


	13. Qualm

**Qualm**

Zaladin stared at the Bloodlord. _"I do hope your intention is to elaborate that question,"_ he said.

"_Nothin', I take it,"_ Mandokir said with a toss of his impressive red mane. _"Release him,"_ he ordered, and the massive trolls that held the death knight fixated let go of his arms and watched as he rose from the ground.

Mandokir glared at Zanzil who was literally jumping up and down with excitement. _"Bring da tablet, Zanzil," _he sighed, seemingly deciding to repress an urge to hit the witch doctor with the nearest blunt object.

Zanzil nodded enthusiastically and retrieved a stone tablet from the pile of things he had carried with him when he returned from collecting the Bloodlord. He came back and handed it to Zaladin.

Zaladin's eyes moved from Zanzil's face to the painting on the stone he held. He stared at the face staring back at him.

The troll's hair had been painted black with what appeared to be a mixture of blood and ash. It stood with an elegant, gravity-defying volume that had refused to succumb to even death. His skin was a strange dusty blue that bore no signs of scarring, and his eyes were not glowing, they were a dark and warm reddish brown. The triangular mark on the troll's chin was evident on the tablet, an intricate black tattoo that had now faded after years of exposure to the Stranglethorn Vale sun and climate, and it was no longer clear how delicate the pattern had been. But the face was the same; the same coldness, the same wicked eyes, the same enormous tusks. Zaladin turned the tablet over in his hands. On its backside, an old Zandali carving was still visible in the stone: _Zaladin the Bloodletter._

He looked up at the anticipating trolls. _"How long ago is this?"_

"_A couple of centuries, two hundred and fifty years, maybe,"_ Mandokir said. _"Still no bells ringin'?"_

Zaladin looked at the tablet again. _"None."_

"_Ohhh, perhaps dis will help Zaladin's mind find its way,"_ Zanzil trolled and rummaged through the things he had brought. After a few seconds he retrieved a small wooden chest from the bottom of the pile and held it towards the death knight. The latter accepted it after shoving the stone tablet into the shaking hands of the confused huntress next to him.

One of the hinges on the lid was crooked, and it was difficult to open the lid without breaking it off completely, but the death knight wriggled it carefully and managed to open it within a few seconds.

Zaladin studied the contents of the little chest carefully. They appeared to be trophies gathered from defeated enemies for reasons he could not imagine. An emerald earring, the middle joint of a human finger bone, a patch of dried skin tattooed with red ink, a chipped gold coin. Upon removing the skin patch, an object appeared beneath the strange treasures that had Zaladin suck in a breath of air through his sharp teeth.

It was a silver pendant formed of a round onyx and two wings pointing upwards. It was held by a thin, but strong silver chain that was tangled in some of the other strange items on the bottom of the chest. With almost trembling fingers he managed to untangle it from the rest of the contents and held it up into the light of the bonfire and torches.

"_Do you recognise this?"_ he asked quietly, twisting the chain between his fingers to turn the pendant around.

"_No. Yer time be before ours."_ Zaladin felt Mandokir's hungry eyes fixed on his face. _"But… Dere be an old tale,"_ he continued carefully, _"a prophecy perhaps, sayin' dat Zaladin da Bloodletter would be returnin' from da grave. No one knew, though, dat it would take ya so long,"_ he added with a deep laugh.

"_Interesting,"_ Zaladin said absently, not bothering to decide whether or not he believed Mandokir's words. He absently lowered the pendant into the palm of his left hand.

An explosion of colours and sensations raged through Zaladin's mind when his skin came in contact with the cool silver. He gasped, and his hand clenched around the pendant as he was taken back, back through the ages to a time long lost to his memory.

* * *

><p><em>Zaladin licked his teeth with a wide smirk. They would reach the clearing in less than a minute now. He glanced to his right; his guards were barely visible in the darkness between the trees of the Stranglethorn Vale jungle, but he sensed them. They were waiting for his signal.<em>

_The group they had been tracking consisted of approximately twenty men and women of the Alliance. The scouts Zaladin had sent out had reported them to be led by a tall, stoic night elf who could present a challenge to the trolls. Zaladin had laughed wickedly at the thought. Zul'Gurub was crumbling, yes. But the Gurubashi trolls were still standing strong. He trusted his tribe. And if this elf thought his miniature army would be enough to best the might of the Gurubashi he would be in for a bit of a surprise._

_A few seconds later he heard the sound of marching feet in the nighttime silence of the deep jungle. It did not take long before he could see their torches. The night elf leading the formation did indeed look experienced. His long, silvery beard was intricately braided and reached his collar bones, and his wavy hair flowed loosely down his back. A silver pendant swung lightly from side to side on his chest with every step he took. He had a determined look on his face, brows furrowed and a skeptical draw on his full lips. Zaladin could easily read the suspicion in his features; the elf knew something was amiss. It was time._

_Silently and extremely carefully, the troll raised his right arm straight up to signal to the trolls strategically spread about the area. He held it there, waiting for the opportune moment._

_When the leading elf stepped into the middle of the clearing, Zaladin brought his arm down sharply, and his tribe followed his order. Remaining in the comfort of the darkness he watched triumphantly as his witch doctors let their voodoo magic slither through the air and put out the blazing torches the group carried, rendering most of its members momentarily blinded by the unexpected darkness._

_Seconds later he heard the awaited gasps and cries as his shadow hunters closed in and caught the struggling men and women, one by one forcing them to their knees._

_Slowly he emerged from the shadows between the trees and casually picked up the torches that had been dropped on the ground about the clearing. He passed them around among the witch doctors who lit them once more and held them high._

_The captives were still stubbornly and under much snarling and shouting trying to fight the hold of their captors. The tall night elf fought valiantly, his eyes blazing orange with fury as he let his spells rain down on the Gurubashi. But it was no use; the trolls were much too strong. A sharp blow to his neck from one of the large shadow hunters forced him to surrender like the rest of them._

_Zaladin placed himself before the group. "Silence!" he commanded in Common, and the noises died down as the split Alliance formation appeared to finally notice his presence._

_"You," Zaladin said, pointing to the elf in the middle. "Tell me yer name."_

_The elf looked up and proudly met his cruel eyes. "I am Heldoran Darkwing."_

_"Bring him forth."_

_Two of Zaladin's guards grabbed the night elf roughly by his elbows, dragged him towards the center of the clearing and brought him to his knees before their leader._

_"Did ya honestly think dat we, da __Gurubashi__," the troll said, raising his arms to acknowledge his tribe, "would simply let yer little group slip by undetected?"_

_The elf said nothing. With the speed of a viper, Zaladin grasped his long, silvery hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. The elf swallowed hard, but his face was impressively calm._

_"Da Blood God be demandin' a sacrifice," Zaladin hissed, knowing that his fellow tribesmen appreciated the theatrical display. "Now, I be givin' ya two options. Option numba one: ya get ta watch me torture, dismember and kill every one of yer precious little friends. Option numba two: ya die in deir place and dey go back and tell da world how ya were lost to da might of the Gurubashi empire. What's it gonna be, "Darkwing"?"_

_The night elf glanced around at the others. All as one they held their breath. "I choose death."_

_The trolls laughed, and the elf's companions protested loudly. One of the males almost broke the hold of his captor: "Heldoran, don't! He's lying. Your daughter-"_

_"She is safe! Many years have passed since she would have needed me. If there is even the slightest chance I can save you, then it is my duty to do so," Heldoran cut them off, defiantly trying to pull his hair free of the troll's grasp. Zaladin released the elf, for his movement had made the silver chain around his neck catch the light of the blazing torches, and the pendant glittered and caught the troll's attention._

_"What a pretty charm," Zaladin said playfully and almost gently lifted the chain from the elf's neck. The pendant was formed of two silver wings folding upwards, joined at the bottom by a round, dim onyx. Upon turning it over, the troll smirked at the sight of the initials 'S.D.', under which a crescent moon had been etched in the silver backside of the pendant, evidently by different hands than the original craftsman's._

_"Ya be a man of faith, Darkwing?" Zaladin pondered, tracing the crescent with his rough blue thumb._

_"Elune is with me," Heldoran said. "She will not let you get away with these atrocities."_

_"Such a pity. Ya see," Zaladin said, subtly retrieving his long, glinting dagger behind his back. He then leaned in and whispered in the elf's ear: "Da Gurubashi have no care for heretics." Then he grasped the elf's silvery hair once more, pulled his head back and slit his throat. Heldoran's lifeblood poured from his veins, and the elf let out a wet, rattling cough as his face turned pale and his life force quickly ebbed out. His companions cried out in fury. Some of them screamed._

_Zaladin's cruel smile widened as he grinned at his tribe. The sight of blood never failed to excite them, and there were few things he himself found more delicious than spilling it for sport._

_"You are a monster." The quiet sentence was almost inaudible beneath the angered and sorrowful exclamations of the rest of the group, but in spite of its lack of volume it somehow found its way to Zaladin's ear. He turned his head towards the speaker and locked eyes with a cerulean-haired female elf who stared back at him with impressive resolve._

_Her strength was admirable. Perhaps she thought it could somehow save her; elves had a tendency to believe themselves of higher worth than trolls. She was no different from the rest of them, but he found her ability to keep her face defiant in spite of her fear enticing._

_Had the situation been different he would have considered taking her captive for the night before he disposed of her; he would have enjoyed her alone between the furs in his bed. As it were, she had unfortunately sealed her fate by challenging his authority before his tribe. They wanted to see her die, so he could not let her live. But he could still break her, and he would._

_With a wicked grin, Zaladin released Heldoran's lifeless body, and it fell to the bloodied ground like a rag doll. He then stalked towards the elf, keeping her eyes locked with his piercing gaze. She refused to look away until he stood towering before her. He raised his dagger to his lips and let his tongue slide along the blade, tasting Heldoran's blood with relish while he held the elf's gaze. For a brief moment her gaze flickered from his. That was the moment his left hand shot forward and grasped her by the neck._

_The elf let out a strangled noise of surprise as he dragged her to her feet, and she had no choice but to follow him back to the centre of the clearing where he shoved her on her knees beside the dead body of her companion. The blood-soaked dagger still in his right hand, he squatted before her and reached his arms around her to cut the ropes that held her wrists tied behind her back._

_He moved away enough to see the confusion on her face when for a brief moment she thought she was being granted a sliver of mercy. There were no protests from his tribesmen. Some dared not question his course of action. Others already knew was he was going to do._

"_Monster, ya call me," Zaladin mused, and the elf sucked in a breath as she ceased rubbing her wrists. She looked up at him, fear now shining through the light in her eyes._

_The troll pressed the blade of his dagger against the soft skin on the elf's neck. He could feel her accelerating pulse in his fingers, Heldoran's now cool, wet blood smeared on the skin that protected her jugular vein; a grim reminder of what might await her._

_He lowered his left hand to the elf's thigh, grasped the skirt of her robe and forcefully yanked it up._

"_No - NO!" she screamed, desperately trying to push him away from her._

_He turned the blade and held its edge hard against her neck. She stopped squirming and breathed shakily, her eyes wild with fear. Zaladin knew she understood from his actions that if she moved again she would be killed._

_She was tense, but she remained still. He inhaled her scent, a mixture of fear and hatred that rolled off her skin in delicious waves. He could break her, and he would. She thought he was simply going to abuse her, but he knew that would not be enough; she could endure physical hurt, there was no question about that. No, he needed to go deeper and break her dignity; he needed her to want him, to visibly break in front of her peers and show that she lusted for the one she had called 'monster'._

_With his free hand he undid the leather-laced front of her leggings, and without further ado he let his thick fingers slide down her knickers. She grit her teeth and looked away, still strong in her hatred. His fingertips moved along her soft lips – she was hairless, as per usual with elves – and traced the edges of her entrance. She was dry and tense. He would change that._

_With slow, gentle strokes he began caressing the elf, his fingers sliding along her lips and up to the little, swelling nub atop her vulva. Silence fell over the torch-lit clearing, and he grinned as he imagined the looks of horror and embarrassment on the faces of the elf's companions. But he could not look away from her now to confirm them; his focus was solely on the effects his practiced fingers had on the female._

_She was wet in no time. To him she was an instrument, and he played her expertly and without fault. He could feel her tension loosen, and she let out a small, desperate whimper._

_Zaladin grew hard. He wanted to take her, ravish her then and there. But doing so would not be nearly as powerful a blow to her dignity. So instead he kept working her sensitive opening until she was so wet that even the furthest reach of the clearing could hear the sloshing sound of his nimble finger-play._

_He stopped for a moment, and the elf looked up at him. Question, confusion, fear, disgust and longing, all were at battle in her eyes. Zaladin removed the dagger from her neck and held it up for all to see. Then he let it fall. It landed on the ground less than half a metre from the elf. Her eyes grew wild, and for a moment it appeared she would lunge for it. That was when the troll finally slid a finger into her hot, soft entrance, all the way up to his knuckle. The elf let out an involuntary moan and arched backwards, abandoning all intent of grasping the knife. She belonged to him now._

_With his now free right hand, Zaladin slowly pushed her back until she lay flat on the ground. Her eyes were determinedly fixed on the darkness of the sky above, but her flushed cheeks and rapidly rising and falling chest gave her away now; she was close, and she would not be able to pretend she did not want more._

_He slowly pulled his finger out, drove it back in, out, in, out and in again. The female was panting now, her fingers clutching onto the skirt of her robe that was bunched up around her hips. When the troll with the aid of his thumb began gently massaging her hard nub again she was moaning and gasping for breath, writhing under his touch and undulating her hips to press herself closer against his hand. He quickened the pace of his movements, and his fingers soon played over her so fast they were near vibration. Her moans grew louder and told him that she was a mere step away from the edge now._

_Zaladin brought her there and pushed her over within seconds. Her final cries of pleasure rang clearly through the surrounding jungle, and the troll felt her convulse in orgasmic spasms around his finger. He was intensely aroused himself, but he would have to do something about that later. There was still work to be done here._

_He let her finish and waited for her to relax again. She released her crumpled skirt and let her arms fall limply to her sides before she let out a final sigh and closed her eyes._

"_Look at me," Zaladin then said._

_She opened her eyes again and found his. She was defeated. Tears were running from her eyes and down her temples to her hairline now as her utter humiliation sank in and became reality. There was no more loathing in her eyes when she looked at him as. It had been replaced with something else, a mixture of desperation and worship that visibly sickened her. The troll had won. She no longer hated him; she hated herself._

_Zaladin finally pulled his wet fingers out of her knickers, and he wiped them down the thigh of her leggings as he glanced up and confirmed that the tribe members around them were still awaiting his command._

_The dagger was in his hand again before the broken elf under him had a chance to react. "Kill them," he purred, and then he drove the blade into her heart._

* * *

><p>Zaladin gasped and opened his eyes. He was on his knees again, had perhaps lost balance during the flashback. His head was spinning wildly. "No…" He looked down at the necklace he still held in his hand.<p>

_"Ohhh, ya remember, don't ya!"_ Zanzil giggled and clapped eagerly. "_Dis be perfect. Come with me now, I be introducin' ya to Jin'do,"_ he said and grasped Zaladin's left elbow to help him back on his feet. _"We can definitely find great use for ya. Wait 'till ya hear our plan. We be rebuildin' da Gurubashi empire, and ya can be part of our greatness again! Welcome home, mon."_

Zaladin stared at him. "_I have no intention of staying,"_ he managed, pulling his arm out of Zanzil's grasp.

_"But dis be where ya belong! Don't ya want yer old life back? Ah, Zanzil can find yer old dagger, too. Zanzil thinks we kept it somewhere around here,"_ the troll rambled on, flailing with excitement.

Zaladin turned his head towards Rahsi. "We are leaving. Now." The devastated elf nodded, and with a sob she hugged her lifeless lion one last time before she got up and joined the death knight.

Mastering every shred of focus that was left in him, the death knight grasped the handle of his blade for support as he channeled a surge of unholy energy into the ground around them. The soil stirred and crawled beneath their feet as dozens of long forgotten bodies rose from beneath the surface, staggering to their rotten feet around him. The army of dead formed a half circle around the death knight and the huntress, holding their formation and awaiting an order.

Zaladin turned his attention towards Zanzil again. _"We are taking our leave now. Should anyone try to stop us,"_ he said, raising his voice to include all the trolls present, _"I will slay them. Dot not cross me."_ Zaladin then turned around, ignoring Zanzil's frustrated cries and Mandokir's snarling curses, and motioning for the elf to follow, he strode out of the ruins with the entourage of corpses following close behind, tucking the silver necklace away on the inside of his breast plate.

"What was it you saw?" Rahsi asked. He felt her damp, bloodshot eyes on his face, but he failed to care for the words she spoke and did not respond at first, his gaze staring into nothingness somewhere above the flames of their campfire. His fingers absently traced the smooth surface of the winged onyx pendant.

_Why this. Why _him.

So, he was a butcher. That was not surprising; he was in this life, too. Yes, he had abused the woman, but that was a bagatelle.

He could have remembered murdering any random elf and it would not have mattered the slightest, perhaps not even to her. But Dorissa's _father_? This was a disaster. The only person he would ever love, and it had turned out to be his fault she was an orphan. Whatever was he going to tell her?

"Will you answer me, please?" Rahsi asked.

Zaladin looked up. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had registered that the blood elf had asked him several times by now. He sighed. "If you will repeat your question."

She sniffled and wiped a lonely tear from her right cheek. "What did you remember?"

He glanced at her and looked down at the pendant in his hand. "I…" Words. Where had they gone? Did he even wish to tell her, he could not say. Did it matter if she knew? No. This was the end anyway. "You wanted to know my relations with Dorissa the Enslaver."

"… Go on?" Rahsi turned from lying on her back to her stomach, resting her head on her forearms when she fixed her fel green eyes on his face.

"Your first question was if she was my lover. You were wrong. She is far more than that. She is everything to me."

"I didn't know death knights could love."

"Nor I."

She waited for him to continue, but he did not. "So I assume that whatever you saw in Zul'Gurub had a connection to her?"

He looked at her, his eyes failing to focus. "I was a coldblooded murderer lusting for blood, feeding on the fear I induced in innocents, finding pleasure in toying with my victims until I ended their lives."

He saw her body tense, but she appeared more confused than frightened. "So not actually that different from what you are now," she concluded, a hint of a smirk on her wet lips.

"No. And yes. I realise I am not a likeable individual as I am now. But I am not what I am because I want it; this is all I know. When I was alive, I did want it. The flashback I saw was not restricted to my mind alone. I felt the excitement, the actual _physical_ arousal surging through my limbs when I killed."

"But what does this have to do with your elf?"

Zaladin held up the pendant by the chain, the silver glinting faintly in the light of the fire. "Do you see the initials on the backside?" he asked.

Rahsi's eyes narrowed as she pulled herself closer on her elbows and reached to take the pendant from his hand. She turned it over and traced the tiny letters with her thin thumb. "S.D. What about them?"

"That pendant belonged to Dorissa's long dead ancestor, Saphiren Darkwing."

"Aaand… You killed her?"

"No." He sighed. "That pendant was passed from generation to generation and lost when Dorissa's father, Heldoran Darkwing, was slain by the Gurubashi tribe. Little did I know that I was the one wielding the blade that ended his life."

Rahsi's eyes widened. "That's… unfortunate, putting it mildly."

"Unfortunate." Zaladin snorted. "I orphaned the only person I will ever be capable of loving."

"Well, you can't know that. Maybe she's not the only one out there for you," Rahsi shrugged.

Zaladin stared at her. "Tell me, is the only thing required of a hunter that they have as much brain capacity as a wet biscuit?"

Rahsi's nose wrinkled, but she let out a small snicker. "That was very offensive and slightly amusing."

"I try my best," the troll said sarcastically and closed his eyes.

"So… What do we do now?" the blood elf said after a while.

"We? There is no 'we' anymore. You will return to Orgrimmar. I will escort you to Grom'gol and secure passage on the zeppelin for you. I will also have it arranged that you will receive the rest of your payment upon your arrival," he heard himself say. Did he mean it? Probably not. It was too soon to tell. _Give it a moment. Fate not yet settled._

"Really? Just like that? What about you then, what are you going to do about this?" Rahsi said, tossing the winged pendant back at the death knight who caught it absently with his left hand.

"I… I do not know." His brow furrowed.

The huntress sat up and scooted closer, cocking her head. "Do you know where she is now?" she asked.

"I believe she will have arrived in Stormwind by now. From there on she will board a ship that will take her to Darnassus. In a week, give or take a few days, she will be in Ashenvale where we… she lives."

"And are you going to tell her?"

"I have to." _Or do I?_ Zaladin looked down at the pendant again. He had never felt so insecure about anything before. "Do you believe she will despise me for what I have done?" he heard himself ask, not certain why he would seek the elf's advice.

Rahsi did not answer for a while. When she did, she sounded strangely compassionate. "I don't know her. But she must be quite special since she has made you love her. I don't think she'll be very happy when you tell her, of course. But if she can love someone like you, she can also forgive you." She hesitated, then added: "I suppose I could, were I in the same situation."

He looked at her. "You? Do not tell me you have taken a liking to me, you will make me cry," he said with a joyless smirk.

She rolled her eyes, seemingly regretting what she had said. "'Liking' is a very strong word. No, I don't know. I'm a lonely person. Besides from… him," she said with a pained glance back in the direction of the old ruins where her faithful companion had lost his life, "you're the first company I've had for months now. And I suppose I could've been worse off. You're not that bad when you're not pissed and trying to break my ankles."

"That is the greatest compliment I have ever been given by your kind," Zaladin responded flatly.

"That doesn't really surprise me," the huntress laughed. "I think it's mostly the fact that the cold about you is actually visible in the air. And you smell a bit funny, too. Not unpleasant, just… wrong."

"Not unpleasant, just wrong?" He cocked a brow at her.

Rahsi giggled hoarsely. "I know that sounded weird. I mean, your smell is strange. It smells like you're not supposed to be alive. And before you get started, I know you aren't. But I don't know how to describe it. Anyway, it's not actually appalling. It's a little bit intoxicating, actually. I've had to shut my nostrils as much as possible to avoid getting lightheaded around you."

"Hmm." A memory appeared in his mind: the first day in the Howling Fjord when Dorissa had slipped on the edge of the cliffs and he had caught her. He remembered her flushing cheeks and dizzy expression as she breathed him in when he had steadied her. That was the night she dreamt of him. He still found himself wondering about what exactly it was she had dreamt. And whatever had triggered her attraction to him.

"How are you going to break the news to her then?" the huntress suddenly asked.

"I cannot say." The feeling of his dagger against his nimble tongue and the metallic taste of Heldoran Darkwing's blood flashed through his mind. It was the closest thing to nausea the death knight would ever feel.

"How bad was it anyway?" Rahsi asked.

Zaladin looked up at her. "I know the taste of his blood. I do not believe there is a way it could be worse than that."

"Well… There is one way."

"Do enlighten me."

"You could have raped him."

Zaladin groaned in response, knowing now what a psychological headache felt like.

The huntress snickered, seemingly satisfied with the result of her remark. "Who'd have thought, Zaladin Grimtusk sporting feelings. Forget the tracking, the old ruins and the anti-climatically easy escape. This, now _that_ is going to be the story I tell when I come home."

A darkness spread across the death knight's features, and he could not help but feel a very small jolt of delight upon hearing her words. _Trapped. A bit of a shame, really_. "Are you certain of that?"

"Well, nothing else has been as surprising as that," Rahsi said with an edge of confused amusement.

"Splendid." It took him less than a second to rise, draw his blade and position himself behind her, his strong fingers grasping her platinum blonde hair and pulling her head back roughly. "I need no longer look for a reason to rid myself of you; you handed it to me so willingly yourself."

The huntress stared at him in utter bewilderment, her eyes looking for trace of jest in his. Finding none, she drew a breath to cry for help, but the death knight had already placed his sword against her fragile porcelain neck, and in one smooth motion he slit her throat.

He released her limp body and let her fall on the ground, ignoring her gurgled coughs and final struggles as he gathered his belongings, absently snatching the purse of gold he had initially handed her from her packs. He remembered in the last moment to retrieve the stone tablet with the face of his past from the pile of things the huntress had left next to what would be her final resting place.

Nonchalantly stepping over the puddle of Rahsi's blood that was forming on the ground where she lay, Zaladin pushed aside the heavy ferns at the edge of the clearing and made for the coast, his fingers seeking the flute to call for his frostwyrm that awaited somewhere above the darkness of the canopy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>  
>There really is nothing I can say which can make up for how long I have kept you waiting for this update, dear reader, and therefore I will not attempt any elaborate weavings about how sorry I am. But do know that I feel utterly awful about it, and that I do not blame you if you are upset with me.<br>I also want to say now that I am through with making promises I cannot keep. I have thus decided not to say anything about when the next chapter will be published, as I haven't a clue myself. There is no point in giving you false hope (yet again), so the story will be continued when it will be continued. Bam. _Enigma. _

That being said, it was about bloody time I told you what happens in Zul'Gurub, was it not? I certainly hope that even if this does not at all make up for the long wait (which I know it doesn't), you have at least enjoyed this glimpse into the past and present of the character that is Zaladin Grimtusk.  
>Merry Christmas and happy New Year!<p> 


	14. Unexpected

**Unexpected**

When the death knight's frostwyrm landed on the outskirts of Moonglen Village, twenty-four hours had passed since he had left the huntress to die in the jungle. He had yet to decide if he felt anything in regards to the choice of slitting her throat. Was he relieved to be rid of her irritating character? Did he regret killing her for reasons which had only existed because he had consciously ensured them? He could not say. Frankly, had he been forced to admit to anything the only thing he would have been able to truthfully confess was how little thought he had given the dead blood elf since the previous day. What he had learned in Zul'Gurub far outweighed any concerns he might have had about Rahsi.

Zaladin's ears detected movement nearby as soon as he had descended the saddle. He would have preferred to have his presence go undetected, but that was not an option with his choice of transport.

"Zaladin!" Nathaldor's voice reached him before the elf did. The death knight turned around and saw the druid hurrying towards him, Jillian right at his tail. "What news?"

The death knight thought through his options within a fraction of a second. _Truth? No. Too risky. If they know, Dorissa will know. Should Dorissa know? Not yet decided. Lie._

"She is safe," Zaladin said, waiting for the couple to reach him. "She will be in Stormwind City by now."

"What! Are you sure?" Jillian looked up at him, her enormous, brown eyes filling up with hopeful tears.

"I am," he said. This was only technically untrue. He was certain that was where Dorissa would have headed. Whether she had made it there yet was another question.

"Oh, thank you. Thank you so much," the warlock exclaimed before flinging her arms around him in an embrace that would have crushed the bones of lesser beings.

She did not make it easy for him to keep the truth from her, this one. The death knight softly put his arm around the warlock, contemplating how to respond.

"Then why is she not with you?" Nathaldor asked worriedly, giving him an excuse to divert his attention from the emotional woman.

"The Stormwind City guard has been fortified immensely since your wedding, courtesy of the threat of Deathwing, I presume; there was no way for me to reach her. I tracked her there, but I could venture no further than the city gates. She should be here within a few days," he said, silently pinning everything he had on neither of the two having actually visited Stormwind in his absence.

Jillian sniffled once and pulled away from him. "I suppose it would be. I didn't even notice when I went there last week."

The death knight's shoulders tensed, but he kept his face unaffected. "What brought you there?"

"I…" The warlock looked up at him, and then her tears spilled. "I received a letter informing me that Doris- Dorissa had… died in action. I had to clear her vault," she explained, her voice cracking on the last syllable. "I couldn't believe it, I wouldn't. None of us would. But we had to go anyway. Ameltha, Elathem, Luridell, Eridess and I, we all went. Managed to clear it all and transport it back here. Sorry, Zaladin. Your home's a bit…" Jillian gave up and sought the comfort of Nathaldor's arms.

"It matters not, Jillian. Thank you for collecting her effects. I am sorry for your distress, and I wish I could have eased it, but I myself knew nothing of Dorissa's situation until yesterday."

"But Zaladin, what exactly is her situation?" Nathaldor asked, absently stroking his wife's hair.

"When the ship sank, Dorissa managed to fly away from the wreckage. She was headed for Stormwind City, but the wind blew her off course, and she was washed ashore in Stranglethorn Vale. Here, she was found by Gurubashi trolls and taken to Zul'Gurub where she was held captive. That is, until a few days ago when she escaped with another prisoner, a priestess whose name I do not know."

"Gurubashi? That makes no sense. The empire fell years ago?"

"I believe they are attempting to rise from their ashes; it will not be long until they reveal themselves," the troll said.

"As if we did not have enough on our plate as it is," Nathaldor mused, but he sounded neither worried nor disappointed. _Restless,_ Zaladin concluded. _Interesting._

"So what do we do now?" Jillian said quietly, turning her face to seek the death knight's cold gaze.

"We wait."

* * *

><p>"Please. Come on, Annie. Be here," Dorissa pleaded under her breath as she swung the brass knocker against the heavy oaken door for the fourth time.<p>

Nothing.

"Damn it all," she huffed. She looked up at Belfrida who was huddled up against the wall next to the door in a futile attempt to keep herself out of the pouring rain. "Give me a second. I'll think of something."

"By all means, take your time. A little pneumonia never killed anyone," the priestess said, her voice dry with sarcasm.

The half-elf resisted an urge to sneer at the other woman. She understood her foul mood.

After spending a night in the Stranglethorn jungle they had begun the arduous trip back to civilization. Hours of walking north through undergrowth that had dealt their feet and lower legs many cuts and bruises they had reached the Rebel Camp where Belfrida had first encountered Mandokir's spirit. A few people had recognised the priestess and given the two women a hot meal and shelter for the night. The following morning they had had the good fortune of acquiring free passage to Darkshire in Duskwood with a caravan of rebels who were going to trade supplies for the camp. But that was as far as luck could get them, and from then on Dorissa and Belfrida had been on their own.

Dorissa knew that they would be fine if only they could get to Stormwind City, and she and the priestess had therefore made the trip from Duskwood to the capital on foot. The downpour had started about halfway, and when they reached the city they were both soaked to the bone, starving and exhausted. The half-elf had kept their spirits as high as she could manage with the promise of new clothes, hearty meals and warm beds; all they needed to do first, she had ensured the other woman, was to make a short trip to the bank of Stormwind and fill their pockets with gold from her inexhaustible vault.

This, however, had not gone to plan. They had entered the city and made straight for the bank only to find that there was no vault registered in the name Dorissa Nightsky. Confused, Dorissa had insisted upon an explanation, and the bankers had apologised and awkwardly explained to her that every crewmember on the Alliance vessel had been presumed dead when the ship had sunk. Their respective vaults had therefore been cleared, and the contents of them, including any mounts they had left in the Stormwind stables, had either been collected by relatives of the deceased or sold on auction, neither of which was of much help to the two women. Dorissa had listed Callan and Jillian on her will as her heirs many years ago, but even if one of them had somehow managed to clear her vault and take her items and fortunes back to Ashenvale there was no way for either of them to help her now. Both were many, many miles away on a different continent, and both most likely thought that she was dead.

The only other options Dorissa could think of were Jillian's brother, Hunter, and her unpleasant mother, Annie. Hunter had for obvious reasons been her first choice, but when asking for him at the blacksmith's where she believed he worked she had learnt that demands for weapon smiths had increased since the return of Deathwing and the discovery of new land which had to be conquered, and Hunter had therefore taken a job in Iron Forge where a substantial part of the weaponry for the Alliance troops was being forged. He was not expected to return for months.

Her hopes dropping, Dorissa had led Belfrida to Annie Jones' house, and this was where she now stood, at a loss and desperate for a solution to their perils.

Recounting her network in her head, the half-elf realised that this would not be an easy task. She had made many acquaintances over the years, but they would all have been dispatched to different parts of Azeroth when she herself had sailed from Stormwind Harbour weeks ago. So what options did she have left?

Townsfolk mostly, shop owners and innkeepers might remember her. There was a young man, a bartender named Joachim Brenlow who worked at the Blue Recluse in the Mage Quarter. She recalled having had many a pleasant chat with him, and she believed he might be able to help them out, if only with something to fill their empty stomachs. That was, if the ill-tempered innkeeper was not around to see him doing it.

"Come. This way," Dorissa said, turning and stepping down from the doorstep and onto the cold, wet flagstones. The soles of her feet ached, and every step sent a jolt of pain up through her ankles. _My right arm for a pair of boots,_ she thought bleakly. _That'd even get rid of some of the damn glitter print on my skin, too._

"Where to?" The priestess had caught up with her quickly, her head held as high as she could muster under the weight of her exhaustion.

"An inn not far from here." Dorissa glanced at the other woman. "I'm afraid it's our last resort, Bel. If this doesn't work out…"

Belfrida shook her head. "Don't. I know."

It took them less than ten minutes to reach the Blue Recluse. Dorissa led the way and pushed open the heavy door that led into the hallway of the inn. Laughter and merriment greeted them at once, and the warmth of the establishment enveloped the two women, a wonderful reprieve from the cold downpour outside.

The half-elf took a right turn in the hallway and looked around the corner of the wall and into the crowded tap room. There were too many people for anyone to take particular notice of a pair of drenched travellers. Or so she hoped. After all, said travellers were, unfortunately, females clad in scanty and questionable clothing.

She turned her attention to the bar, and she spotted Joachim immediately. In spite of all the customers he did not appear to be all that busy at the moment.

After having scanned the room and concluded that the bartender's boss was nowhere to be seen, Dorissa motioned for Belfrida to follow her, and she swiftly glided through the room as unnoticeably as she could manage. Spotting an empty table under the stairs to their left, she tossed her head in its direction. "Wait there," she told the priestess, and the other woman nodded and headed for the nook.

Dorissa made for the bar and placed herself near the taps to heighten her chance of catching Joachim's attention. It worked; the man had just received an order for a pint, and when he moved to fill the mug he looked up and noticed her.

"Well, well, well. Dorissa Nightsky! It's been a while since I saw you around here," he greeted her cheerfully, turning away for a moment to hand the now full mug to the customer he was serving.

"Certainly has," the half-elf said, not bothering to correct his use of her old name. What mattered was that he remembered her. "How's everything going with you?"

"Same old, same old. Can't complain. I'd ask how you are, but frankly... You look like hell," Joachim grinned, placing his hands on the bar counter across from her to rest his weight against it.

"What? Don't tell me I've got the latest fashion trends wrong. I was sure that 'dishevelled and drenched' was the new sexy," Dorissa joked, managing to almost conceal her weariness.

The man laughed. "'Fraid I'll have to disappoint you there, missy. Now, what can I do for you? Lookin' like that, I doubt you've come here for chit-chat."

She sighed and sent him an apologetic smile. "Right you are. I'm in a bit of an unfortunate situation, Joachim. My friend and I," she said with a nod in Belfrida's direction, "have travelled many miles, and we have now unexpectedly found ourselves in Stormwind without food or shelter for the night. I know this is a lot to ask of you, and I truly wish I didn't have to, but I have no alternatives left, and-"

Joachim silenced her with a raised hand. "Say no more. What do you need?"

"Thank you, my friend," the half-elf said sincerely. "We don't require all that much, and I'll of course see to it that you are paid once I get hold of my belongings again. A bit of food, anything you can spare. And a place to sleep for the night?"

"Consider it d-"

"And what's this?" a gruff voice barked behind the bartender, making the latter jump.

"Nothing, sir, I-"

"Doesn't look like 'nothing' to me," Steven Lohan said, giving Joachim a rough push to take his place at the bar counter opposite Dorissa. "Looks like you were about to serve a drifter."

The half-elf glared at the innkeeper. "I am not a drifter, Lohan."

"Call yourself whatever you want. Hobos and vagabonds, you're all the same, and the same rules go for all of you." The large man pointed sharply towards a wooden sign that hung on the wall behind the bar. 'No gold, no grub' had been carved in letters much too elegant for the primitive message.

"You've seen me here before! You know very well I'm not-"

"Lady, do I look like I care?" the innkeeper said, focusing his dark scowl threateningly on her. "I have an establishment to run here, and if anyone ever taught you jack squat about economy you'll know that giving things away for free does not raise profits. Now, get out of my inn!"

"Oh, I'll leave. Well done, Lohan. I no longer recall why I ever cared so for this city," Dorissa sneered. She turned and was about to make for the table where she had left the priestess when a voice behind her stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Because even in the darkest hour, within these walls there is always a shred of kindness to be found. Your best room, if you please." The sound of a purse full of heavy coins being dropped on the counter before the severely irritated innkeeper was heard.

Dorissa's brow furrowed with confusion as she turned to her right and looked into the familiar eyes of the person to whom the voice belonged.

She recognised his face at once. But the two years that had passed since she had last laid eyes upon him had altered his appearance beyond comprehension. His once so soft features had been chiselled and sharpened by many a wind; the stubble of a worn traveller spread on his chin and upper lip. His silvery hair had lost its shine to the weather and hung long and tangled down his back, and his eyes were devoid of the stubborn naivety that had once inhabited them.

But what struck her most were the four scars that ran down each of his cheeks and the singular one that had marked his lower lip and left it with a permanently bitter draw.

He was rugged in every sense, yet he wore it so well she had to remind herself to close her mouth when the initial surprise had settled.

"I said that so many years ago," she managed.

"You did," Oldarion said. "You look hungry," he added, handing her the tavern's parchment menu.

"Oldarion-" Dorissa started, but he cut her off.

"None other," he said dryly. "Now, take your pick; it's on me. I believe your friend over there would enjoy a meal, too," he added with a nod of his head towards the table where Belfrida sat, watching the two elves with bemused eyes.

The half-elf looked up at the man who, in a previous life, had first been her friend, but more recently her pestilence and her enemy. He simply returned her look, patiently awaiting her order.

"Potato soup for me," she said quietly. "Something red and bloody for her."

Oldarion nodded without as much as raising an eyebrow at the last sentence. "I'll bring it to you," he said and turned towards the bar again to place the order.

Dorissa walked back to the table in complete bewilderment and sat down next to the priestess.

"Who's he?" Belfrida asked, a light shudder making its way down her wet, cold arms, leaving goose bumps in its way. Even with wolf blood in her veins, the woman had not been able to keep the cold out of her bones.

"He… He is an old friend." The half-elf gathered her soaked sarong around her damp legs and crossed her arms around her upper body to keep as much warmth in as she could.

It did not take long before Oldarion returned with steaming hot soup in one hand and a plate of almost raw steak and vegetables in the other. He left again and came back with two large mugs of warm apple cider and a couple of heavy woollen blankets.

"Thank you," Dorissa murmured and took the mug he handed her. "This is Oldarion Lightseed," she explained to the priestess. "Oldarion, this is Belfrida Hale."

"Spare the surname. It's just Oldarion," the elf said flatly.

The priestess nodded as she wrapped herself in her blanket and inhaled the delicious smell of a proper meal with a pleased sigh.

"What brings you here?" Dorissa asked quietly while blowing the steam off her soup.

"It's only a quick stop on my way back to Darnassus from the Twilight Highlands. My ship sails tomorrow."

"The Twilight Highlands… What were you doing there?"

"Whatever I am needed for; I serve as a bounty hunter now."

Dorissa looked up at him. "You've changed so," she pondered.

"Yes. I have," Oldarion said, locking her eyes with his. There was so little left of the man she had once known in their deep glow; Dorissa could not quite determine how she felt about the way he looked at her now, but she was certain it meant not what it used to. It was, however, hard to read him now. Even when he raised a hand and let his fingers discretely trail down the scars on his cheeks she was not entirely sure what to make of it.

"I can remove those for you if you want me to," Belfrida suddenly said between bites of her extremely rare steak, apparently having noticed the movement.

"Thank you, but I would prefer if you didn't," he said with a glance at the human's questioning expression. "I keep them as a reminder."

"What happened?" the priestess asked, not removing her eyes from his face.

"I…" Oldarion paused and looked at Dorissa.

Many memories stood clear in the half-elf's mind, but few were as vivid as the night her forehead had been adorned with the black crescent of the Sapphire Darkling – and the events which had followed. She remembered Oldarion's hot, ale-smelling breath on her face, his delusional ravings about her being inferior to him and his greedy, violent hands on her body.

She remembered the taste of his lips and his blood in her mouth when she bit him, she felt his skin under her nails when she bored them into his cheeks and scratched to get free.

And most of all she recalled the final words she spoke to him that night: _'Pray that you never cross my path again, Oldarion Lightseed, for I swear to you now that if you do, the light of my falling stars will be the last you know in this world.'_

Oldarion looked away from her again, and his lips parted to explain, but Dorissa interrupted him: "He made a mistake. Not one he is likely to repeat," she said with a soft smile.

The other elf looked at her, surprise shining briefly in his eyes. Then he nodded, a confirmation and silent thanks in unison.

Belfrida looked from one elf to the other. Dorissa knew she understood that the two shared a past that was not of the pleasant kind. But it was not in the woman's nature to pry; she had too many secrets herself. She simply nodded and spoke a quiet, "I see". She then gulped down what remained of her cider and glanced up at the others. "I thank you both for everything you have done. I would very much like to get some sleep now. Where should I go?"

"Room number four," Oldarion said and placed a heavy key in her hand. "Up the stairs at the opposite wall. I wish you a good night."

"As do I," Dorissa said. "I won't be long."

Belfrida nodded and got up from her seat to slowly make her way through the many talking and laughing guests towards the stairs in the right side of the room.

The half-elf turned her attention to Oldarion, studying his face in silence for a little. She had yet to make up her mind as to what she felt about his reappearance in her life. Did she wish him dead? Not particularly. But she could not say that she had wanted him back in her social circle at any point during the two years that had passed. In truth, she had not given much thought to what had become of him; she had not cared enough to do so.

"What has happened since... Since we last spoke?" she asked, her tone as neutral as she could master.

The elf's eyes wandered with Belfrida's figure as she climbed the stairs with slight difficulty from her exhaustion. "I assume you ask what I did after you ran?"

"From then and up until now, yes."

"That night I lay on the ground for a while, I recall. The world spun. As you may have been aware, I was not exactly accustomed to the side effects of alcohol, and I spent quite a while simply trying to understand what had just happened. I was outraged by the fact that you had so easily bested me. I remember not being able to fathom that, in spite of feeling so certain of the righteousness in my actions towards you, I must have done something wrong that had enabled you to take over the situation so quickly." He paused, seemingly sickened by the memory of his own state of mind.

"And then what happened?"

"After somehow getting up from the ground, bereft of balance as I was, I stumbled back to my chambers and slept. When I woke the next morning I first felt sorry for myself. The pain in my head was, however, overshadowed by the sting of the wounds you gave me, and I slowly began to realise that I had been a fool.

Blinded by my desire to climb the ranks and claim my prize I had pursued you, and when I looked in the mirror and saw what it had brought me I was disgusted with myself. I was torn; I hated you for ruining me, but I hated myself more for letting it happen. I did want you, yes, but you were right when you said I had never loved you. That was the day I decided it was time to leave.

The next day I packed my scarce belongings and closed the door to my embarrassing past behind me. I have made my living as a travelling bounty hunter for two years and am about to make the journey back for the first time since."

"That's quite the decision to make," Dorissa said quietly.

"I needed it." He looked away briefly and then met her eyes. "Dorissa, I want you to know that I am deeply sorry for what I did to you. I do not ask for your forgiveness, but I do want you to understand that if I can make up for at least a little of my idiotic behaviour in any way at all, do not hesitate to ask me."

It took her a moment to grasp that she was indeed sitting across from the very same man she had left on the ground two years ago. She had never considered it possible that they could reconcile in any way, nor had she wanted to. When she had cursed him on that night, Dorissa had truly believed that should she ever cross paths with Oldarion Lightseed again, one of them would not live to tell the tale. Yet here he was telling her he was sorry.

"I…" She was not quite certain what to tell him. "I cannot say that I can simply forgive what you did, Oldarion. It was a grave offence. But know that your actions have not shaped my life thenceforth, and that I no longer feel any desire for revenge. It hasn't mattered for a long time."

He nodded. "I suppose that is all I can ask for, considering the things I put you through," he said after a few moments of silence. "And now," he said, straightening up in his chair, "I would really want to know what has befallen you and Mrs Hale. You're both clad in rags, you're hurt and look like you haven't eaten for days. What can possibly have treated you so shamefully?"

Dorissa sighed. "It is a story of much coincidence, in truth."

He nodded. "How did you meet the priestess, if I am not mistaken as to her occupation? She has a rather distinctive accent; she is hardly from around here?"

"You're not mistaken, no," the half-elf said, glancing in the direction in which the human had left. "Belfrida comes from Gilneas."

"Gilneas?" Oldarion's eyes narrowed. "I have heard strange tales of that city on my travels. Most of them rumours, I believe, but nevertheless its people appear to have suffered a fate most ill as of late."

"I wouldn't label any of it rumours at this point, to be honest. Anyway, I met the priestess – that is indeed her occupation – when I was held captive in Zul'Gurub by Zanzil the Outcast."

"What!" A tad of Oldarion's old temper came to the surface in the exclamation as he stared at her in disbelief.

"I believe that story is better told from the beginning," Dorissa said quietly, and then she began her tale. She told everything she remembered in detail from the time the ship had been sunk by the kraken to every day spent in the ruins, but she left out everything that was not hers to tell. She did not say anything of the horrors that had befallen Belfrida before the two women had met; she did not even mention that the human was cursed, and she did not go into any specifications as to what Mandokir had done to the priestess, even though she could see from Oldarion's expression that he sensed at least a little of what it had involved.

When she came to the part when she and Belfrida had been caught trying to escape the ruins, her voice trailed off as she once again went through the happenings in her mind.

"Yes? And then?" Oldarion said, waiting for her to continue.

"I..." She fiddled with a loose string at the end of her right sleeve. "I'm not certain I am actually capable of describing what happened. But..." She looked up at him. "You still _believe_, do you not?"

"Elune is with me," he simply said.

"How do you know that?" Dorissa whispered, not breaking eye contact with him.

The other elf looked at her for a while. "Because I believe she is."

"But she has not actually given you a sign, I take it?"

"Do not question my beliefs, Dorissa," he said stiffly, an edge of frost seeping into his tone.

She shook her head. "You misunderstand. I ask because... Because I'm afraid."

"You are safe now, Dorissa. There is nothing for you to fear. You don't think I'd hurt you, do you?"

"No, I… I lack the words to explain it. It's probably easier to simply show you."

"Show me what?" He looked at her in confusion when she rolled up the sleeve on her right arm.

The markings appeared much more distinctive than they had been the last time she had properly looked at them. Perhaps it was only the dim light in the tavern that made them appear so; perhaps it was simply because she wanted them gone so desperately. Nevertheless, she was shocked upon seeing how visible they had become; they caught the light of the candle on the table and shimmered brightly when she turned her arm to let him see.

Oldarion's brow furrowed. "How…" He reached out and hesitantly touched the pattern on her skin with two fingers. "They look celestial, like melted moonlight," he said quietly. "Strangely cool to the touch… How did you get these?" he asked, looking up at her again.

"Something happened when Belfrida and I attempted to escape the ruins. I don't think I can explain it; I was not really… present. I remember a light and a voice inside my head. I reached out to touch the light, and from then on I don't know what happened. Hours later I awoke by a campfire somewhere in the jungle. Belfrida watched over me. She told me I flew and carried her with me, but… I couldn't have. I could not take flight within the ruins, their voodoo was too strong." Dorissa sighed and pulled her arm away to cover it with her sleeve once more.

"Do they hurt?" Oldarion asked when she had finished.

"What? No, not at all."

"Then why cover them so carefully as if they do?"

She glanced up at him, and her eyes shifted to the worn surface of the table. "Because they frighten me."

"Dorissa, these markings are a blessing, not a curse."

"How can you say that when you know how I feel about… her?"

"I can only speak from my own point of view of course, but I believe that if I were you I would be rather glad to know that I was not alone," he said quietly.

"But that is exactly what I am," she said, her eyes darkening as she met his, "I am alone. There is no one I can turn to, and I have accepted that. I'd rather rely on myself than idolisation of something I do not believe in."

He studied her face silently for a little while. "Where do you plan on going from here?" he then asked, efficiently changing the subject.

"I don't know." Dorissa looked away into the nothingness next to his elbow. "I was going to propose that Belfrida come back to Ashenvale with me. But my belongings and my drake have been collected in my absence, and I have no gold to pay for our trip over the sea."

"You don't have to worry about that; I'll pay for both of you."

She looked up at him with shining eyes. "I would have told you not to, but I'm out of options at this point. I promise to pay you back as soon as I return home."

"No, I don't want you to. I owe you." Oldarion met her eyes, the following words seemingly uncomfortable for him to say: "Thank you for not telling the priestess what I did to you."

"Consider it a second chance; everybody deserves one," the half-elf said with a small smile.

He returned her gesture. "Go rest," he then said. "I'll have someone bring you both breakfast and clean garments tomorrow morning."

Dorissa nodded and got up from her chair. "Thank you for everything," she said earnestly.

He nodded once and sent her a last inscrutable glance before she turned around and made for the stairs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>  
>I have updated within reasonable time! I must be on some sort of witchcraft.<br>Thank you all for the lovely reviews on chapter 13; it is wonderful to know that you have stayed and waited for a new post in spite of how long it took me.  
>So, Oldarion has returned! Perhaps you expected that, perhaps you did not.<br>The more interesting question, however, is what you think of it. Do not hesitate to let me know!


	15. Preparations

**Preparations**

The rain had stopped at some point during the night, and the sun shone softly through the window above the headboard of Dorissa's bed the following morning. She turned on her side and exhaled a relaxed sigh. The soft linen of the sheets felt heavenly against her bruised skin.

She would have been happy to stay in any place that had a roof to shield them from the elements, but Oldarion had indeed managed to install them in one of the best rooms at the inn. It was large and airy with rich, embroidered curtains and bedspreads, and a heavy, soft carpet covered the wooden floor beside their beds.

She opened her eyes when she heard a quiet knock on the door outside. "Yes?" she called, sitting up and gathering the blankets around her bare body.

Two maids entered, one carrying a tray of bread, fruit, eggs and bacon, the other a large bowl and a pitcher filled with hot water with one arm and fresh towels and two brown parcels with the other.

"Thank you," Dorissa said with a smile as they placed the food and water on the bedside table next to her and laid the large parcels at the foot end of the bed.

"You're welcome, miss," one of them said, and they both left with a rustle of skirts and closed the door behind them.

The half-elf turned and sat with her feet on the floor next to the bed and wrinkled her nose at the sight of the bundled up rags, of which she had stripped herself the previous evening, lying on the floor next to the nightstand.

She looked at the opposing bed; Belfrida was still sound asleep, her black hair draped over the pillow, tousled and unkempt.

Quietly to not wake the priestess, Dorissa stood up and grasped the pitcher to fill the bowl with water. She was delighted to find two bars of soap, a couple of quality hairbrushes and a pair of silver shears inside the large bowl, and while the steaming hot water cooled a little she ran a brush through her hair, happy to finally be able to untangle the countless knots that had formed over the past weeks.

She let the soap dissolve in the water and then washed up, drying her body with one of the heavy towels afterwards.

Feeling almost reborn, she went to investigate the parcels that were waiting for her on her bed. They were name labelled, and upon opening hers she found fresh linen undergarments, a pair of soft leather shoes and a beautiful grey dress with long balloon sleeves. Upon removing the latter, a pair of sleek, dark leather gloves fell out of the parcel, and Dorissa all but squealed with joy; now she did not need to fear that anyone would see the markings on her right hand and arm.

She quickly dressed herself, enjoying the feel of clean fabrics against her skin (while trying not to wonder how Oldarion knew her size). Then she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Belfrida's bed to wake the human.

The priestess moaned and rolled on her side, her face turning towards Dorissa. "No," she breathed, and the half-elf halted the motion she was about to make, thinking the other woman was talking to her.

But Belfrida was dreaming, her eyes flickering beneath her lids as she raised a hand to push an unknown character away. "I can't," she sighed regretfully, and then she gasped as if touched by someone she did not know how to turn down.

Deciding it was not her business to listen in on the other woman's secret fantasies, Dorissa placed a hand on the covers and gave Belfrida's shoulder a gentle shake. "Wake up, Bel."

The human did not respond at first. "No," she said, her voice cracking, but it was not a response to the half-elf's request.

Dorissa's brow furrowed. She shook the woman again, this time more firmly. "Come on, you."

Belfrida's eyes sprung open, and she stared into the ceiling. Feeling the movement on the covers she sat up and backed up against the headboard, her canines elongating as she snarled wildly.

"Hey, hey, relax," the half-elf said and quickly got off the bed, holding her gloved hands up in apology.

The priestess stared at her in confusion. Then her eyes wandered around the room, and she appeared to realise that she was no longer trapped in the jungle. Relaxing her tense shoulders, she let go of the blanket she had clutched tightly between her long fingers, and her fangs retracted as she breathed deeply and sent Dorissa a weary smile. "Sorry. It may take me a couple of days to get used to the fact that I won't be beaten and abused every time I wake."

The half-elf laughed. "It's alright. Get dressed now; breakfast is waiting for you."

"I did think I smelled eggs."

After finishing up their breakfast, Dorissa offered to help Belfrida with her hair and clothes, but the priestess shook her head. "Thank you, but no. Can you wait outside for a little while? I'd appreciate a bit of privacy."

Without questioning the other woman's motives, Dorissa walked out and closed the door behind her, and she leaned against the wall and waited for the priestess to let her back in.

It did not take long before she called. When the half-elf opened the door she could not hold back a gasp. "Your hair!"

"I know. Don't tell me how it looks; it's probably awful," Belfrida said, crossing her arms over her ribs and looking away from the other woman. "But I needed a change." On the floor next to her bed lay her long, black tresses, which she had cut off a couple of inches below her jaw.

"No, you misunderstand. It's lovely," Dorissa mused, moving closer to brush off a few loose hairs on the priestess' shoulder. Her thick locks had needed a trim after the Zul'Gurub horrors she had been through, and, even if it was visible that she had lost a lot of strength and weight over the last few weeks, she looked on her way to being healthy again. She had healed at least the visible cuts and bruises in her face, and her hair was no longer matted, but shiny and straight. A slight glow had returned to her cheeks, and the heavy, forest green dress, the contents of Oldarion's parcel for her, complemented her dark skin beautifully. "Actually, it's more than lovely. You look fantastic."

Belfrida's lips twitched in a hesitant smile. "Thank you."

Dorissa bit her lip and looked away from the priestess. "There's something I need to talk to you about, Bel." It was something that had been gnawing at the back of her mind for a few days now, and she could postpone it no longer: today was her last chance to tell the priestess the truth about where she planned to take her.

"Speak your mind?" Belfrida said, and the half-elf felt her emerald eyes watching her warily.

"I've… Well, for a while I've prematurely assumed that once we had reached Stormwind City and had rested, I would go home to Ashenvale Forest, and you would come with me."

"I wouldn't call it a far-fetched assumption, given that you know my current situation. I'd return to Gilneas and resume my old life, had I not been responsible for the murders of several individuals within the city walls and subsequently fleeing the perimeter," the woman said darkly. "I have nowhere to go. If you will let me come with you…"

"Of course I will, but… There's something you need to know about me if you're coming, Bel."

"I doubt anything about you could possibly weigh up to what you know about me."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Dorissa took a deep breath and looked up at the other woman. "Do you remember asking me how I know Zandali?"

Belfrida's figure tensed at once. "You said you had learnt it from a troll."

She nodded. "I have. I was taught by Zaladin Grimtusk, a troll death knight who I met a little more than two years ago when I served as his escort across Northrend. He is an intelligent, cold and experienced killer. And he is the person I described to you in Zul'Gurub; he is my life-mate."

For a little while the priestess did not speak a word. She simply stared at the woman in front of her, the pieces falling into place in her mind. "If I go home with you…"

"You will face another troll, yes."

"Is he like… Him?" It was not difficult to guess who she was referring to.

Dorissa shook her head carefully. "I suppose he shares a little of Mandokir's passion for bloodshed. But no, he is not like him. He kills, but never unless he has no other option. He is rational; the suffering of others does not benefit him, and he therefore does not bring it unnecessarily upon them. He would never harm you, Bel. And besides," she added, another thought occurring to her, "it's actually unlikely that he will be there. He was dispatched to Mount Hyjal when I left myself."

The priestess nodded. "I suppose it should not come as such a surprise, but…" She sighed. "I will come with you, Dorissa. For everything you have done for me… I will try. But I cannot promise that…"

"That you'll stay, no. I know. The fact that you are willing to try is more than I could've hoped for. If it doesn't work out… We'll find a solution. You needn't worry about that."

Belfrida gave her a single, stiff nod in response before gesturing towards the door. Dorissa grabbed her staff, which had rested against the wall next to her nightstand, and together they left the room and headed downstairs.

Oldarion was waiting for them by the same table they had shared the previous evening. He got up as they approached and sent them both a smile, although he was still slightly apprehensive when he met Dorissa's eyes. "Good morning; I trust you have slept well?"

"We have – and thank you for these; it's much appreciated," Dorissa said, gesturing to the dress she was clad in.

"Yes, thank you," Belfrida added quietly.

The half-elf glanced at the other woman who appeared strangely uncomfortable in her own skin. It was more than the conversation they had just had, though; it seemed that conveying gratitude this many times in a row was unfamiliar territory to her. _Must be very draining,_ Dorissa concluded.

"I brought you these," Oldarion said, seemingly not noticing Belfrida's ill-concealed awkwardness about the situation. Although, perhaps he simply did not find it appropriate to mention it. He handed them each a dark, woollen cloak. "To keep you warm on the voyage," he explained.

"Wonderful. We're ready to leave whenever you wish," Dorissa said.

"Splendid. Come then."

Together, the trio walked through the streets of Stormwind City towards the harbour. The destruction Deathwing had left in his wake was still visible everywhere: singed rooftops, broken walls and empty sites where houses had once stood scarred the beautiful city, and people who had lost their homes to the Cataclysm wandered the streets looking for refuge. But, as Oldarion explained, most of them had given up and were relocating to Westfall in a desperate attempt at gaining a second chance.

But even though she felt the troubles of the citizens and wished she could do something for them, in that moment there was little that could upset Dorissa. The frail sunlight warmed her face, and there was not a cloud in sight. She had nothing more to fear for at least a couple of days, and she was finally going home. The unsettling thoughts of whatever had happened within the ruins and – should it happen – how the meeting between Belfrida and Zaladin would go could wait; right now she was happy.

The only thing that brought her fantastic mood down a little was the knowledge that Zaladin would most likely not be there when she returned. If all was as it should be, the death knight was still in Hyjal, and he would remain there indefinitely. But at least she no longer had to fear that she would die before she saw him again. No, she could wait. Perhaps she did not even need to tell him what had happened when she returned. _Foolish thought, really. He'll sense something's off. And I can't exactly hide the marks from him, _she thought, absently tugging her right sleeve further down towards her glove.

But, on the other hand, if practically no one was waiting for her in Moonglen Village she would have a reprieve from summarising the events that had befallen her, and it felt wonderful to be free of the burden, if only for a little while. One way or another, it would work out. 

* * *

><p>The night was cool, but the curse kept her blood heated, and the woollen cloak helped contain the warmth. All the other passengers, including Dorissa, slept soundly in their cabins and hammocks, and no crewmembers were visible on the deck.<p>

She stood quietly, resting her lower arms on the railing and watching the soft reflection of the moon in the surface of the ocean. A breeze lifted the freshly cut strands of hair that framed her face, but the weather was very still that night. Between her fingers she turned the golden ring that had not left her right ring finger since the day she had married Hubert. The gold caught the white light above now and then, its worn surface glinting faintly beneath the many scratches in the metal.

It was a strange feeling. The past months had been the worst in Belfrida's life, and she had still not come to terms with how everything was now. She missed her husband, but the life she had shared with him felt like it had been lived by someone else.

She felt like a completely different person, but she could not determine whether she liked it or not. The pros of her situation certainly did not outweigh the cons, and she felt incredibly burdened by what she had gone through. No matter how many times she washed her body she knew that she would never rid herself of Mandokir's violent touch. Even though she was slowly regaining the ability to smile, she felt that the Bloodlord had broken something inside her, and she knew not if it could ever be restored.

And the hole her husband's demise had left inside her was not going to be filled any time soon. Dorissa had done so much for her, and even though she had not yet spoken the words she was eternally grateful for having crossed paths with the half-elf. But in spite of feeling that she could rightfully call her a friend, the priestess still felt alone around her, and it was a kind of loneliness so deep she did not see how it could possibly be washed away.

She sighed, twisted the ring one last time between her slender fingers and decided to put it back on and return to her cabin.

"It's beautiful."

Belfrida sucked in a breath of air from surprise and almost dropped the ring over the side of the ship. Her fingers clutched it tightly as she turned her head and looked at Oldarion. He stood in the middle of the deck, his eyes turned upwards to the moon and stars.

"It is." Belfrida turned around again, and the elf joined her by the side of the railing.

"You are so quiet," he stated and rested his lower arms on the railing like her.

"I don't have much to say."

"I highly doubt that." He turned his head and looked at her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the dark horizon. "Dorissa told me most of what befell you both in Zul'Gurub."

"I thought she would have." She sensed he was not finished, but she was not going to ask for him to continue.

"However," he said, still not taking his eyes off her face, "she told me almost nothing of you. I know not who you are, how you fell into the hands of the Gurubashi or what happened in the ruins that is to blame for what I see now."

The priestess' brow twitched. _He's lying. She _must've_ told him._ "What do you see?"

"An empty shell. Hurt, abuse and longing. And old pride that keeps you from letting the words out that you wish to share."

For a moment she forgot her determination to not give in and turned her head, her emerald eyes wide when she looked at him.

The dream had been so vivid. She still felt Hubert reaching for her, his lips against hers and his hands trailing down her waist. And she felt his bones break under her touch; she tasted his blood in her mouth and watched him die all over again.

And she felt awful about looking this stranger in the eyes now; it was as though he saw straight through her clothes and knew everything she kept locked away, and she did not like feeling that vulnerable.

Why she had not yet walked away she could not say. He was physically endearing and seemed like a decent person, but that had nothing to say. What mattered was that she had no idea who this man was and could not tell what he meant with his interest.

"You don't know me," she whispered, this time not breaking eye contact with him.

"No," Oldarion said, his face indifferent. "But perhaps I may yet come to."

She did not answer.

"What did they do to you, Belfrida?"

The sound of her name spoken by a stranger in such a caring tone brought tears to her eyes, and she had to look away when she spoke: "There is nothing he did _not_ do to me."

"He?"

"Oh, don't act like Dorissa didn't tell you," she sneered, blinking the involuntary wetness out of her eyes.

"As a matter of fact, she didn't. But I do know who was involved, and seeing that she was held by Zanzil I presume you're referring to the Bloodlord."

"He is a monster who deserves nothing more than to be ripped into a million pieces and eaten by rabid dogs," she spat. "No death is painful enough for him."

"I did sense quite the temper lurking somewhere below the surface of all that restraint," Oldarion said quietly.

"Don't ask if you are going to mock the answer," the priestess hissed with a glance in his direction.

"You misinterpret my words; it was not my intention to mock. I seek only to understand."

"Very well." Belfrida looked up at him and locked her eyes on his face, forcing herself to not look away. "There is no part of my body which has not been defiled by Bloodlord Mandokir. I have screamed, cried, broken and bled under him, and so many times I wished he would break my neck and end everything because I was too much of a coward to bite my own tongue and be done with it," she snarled and slammed her hand into the railing with disgust and fury. She then closed her eyes and drew a breath, calming herself the best she could. "He has been inside me mentally and physically in ways I can never ever repress. I feel filthy and worthless because of him, and I loathe myself for being misled by his silver tongue," she finished so quietly it was little but a whisper.

Her eyes flew open again, and she all but gasped and drew away when she felt his hand on hers, her fingers tensing in protest against the unexpected gesture.

"Why do you blame yourself when in truth the fault is his? You do not deserve such cruelty," he said softly, his voice too close for comfort.

"Oh, but I do," Belfrida said.

The breeze blew his silvery hair towards her, the strands shimmering like moonlight in the night. "Whatever the reason you have to believe that… Remember that we all deserve a second chance," Oldarion said quietly. He then released her hand and began to walk away from her and towards the door that led to the cabins.

"Dorissa told me why she can speak the troll tongue," the priestess said, not turning her head from the glittering surface of the water.

She heard him stop, and he let out a bitter snort. "Is that so."

"It is." She hesitated. "Have you met him?"

"Once."

"Should I fear him?"

"You? No."

Belfrida understood the implication. "And you?" she asked.

It took him a moment to construct an answer. "Fear is not in my nature," he then settled for. Then he left.

Belfrida chewed thoughtfully on her lip for a minute. Before she turned to leave for the warmth of the covers in her cabin she took a deep breath and held out her hand, opened it and let the golden ring fall from her palm and into the darkness of the waves below. 

* * *

><p>Night had fallen hours ago, and the moon hung in the velvet sky high above the canopy. The death knight lay on his back on the soft, leaf-strewn ground near the moonwell of the village, thoughts unwantedly slithering in and out of his consciousness.<p>

He had not entered Dorissa's hut since he had returned to Moonglen. It somehow felt like trespassing now. If he had ever considered it his home, that feeling had vanished after his discoveries in Zul'Gurub.

For hours, Zaladin had been staring into the constellations above him in search of an answer to what he was going to tell his life-mate. He twisted the winged silver pendant between his rough fingers for the umpteenth time, half wanting another flashback that would justify what he had seen in the first one. But, as he expected, nothing came.

_Ironic._ Dorissa had mentioned to him several times over the past years that she would have liked to conduct thorough research into who and what he had been before he died. She had made the guess that he had been a rogue once shortly after they had first met, and while that was not the actual case she had irrefutably been correct in regards to his stealth and his fondness of daggers in life. Could he tell her of his discoveries without mentioning Heldoran? _No._ She knew him too well, and she would inevitably realise that he was keeping something from her.

The question was, however, whether she would decide to respect it as his secret to keep. _Of course she would._ He felt a strange sensation in his gut and went through the catalogue of emotions he had begun to establish since he met the half-elf. He was not certain of its identity; it felt new, but it was not strong enough to cause him pain. _Guilt?_ It was the only label that came to mind, and he concluded that that increased the likelihood of it being the right one. It made sense; after all, he was quite seriously considering the option of lying to Dorissa, the only person he had never had any reason to lie to. And, as he then realised, keeping only part of the truth from her would mean that he would eternally rely on taking advantage of her goodness, and he did not consider that option appealing.

Having quickly ruled this out, Zaladin saw only two alternatives: all or nothing. Giving her everything would be the greatest risk he had ever taken, including cutting off his own sword-hand in Icecrown. Like that of the latter case, the outcome of this scenario would rely completely on Dorissa's reaction to the situation. The difference was, however, that during their final battle together the half-elf had fought to ensure that he would be safe, and he knew that she had not felt reason to hesitate when he had ordered her to take down Chillmaw. This time he would be putting his existence at her mercy, and he had no idea how she would react to the information he possessed. He would not be taking advantage of her goodness, no; but he would be relying completely on it. And there was no way he could coerce her into forgiving his actions if she considered forgiveness a necessity.

The death knight felt a profound urge to curse out loud, but he restrained himself. Profanities would solve nothing.

He turned his focus to the other alternative: keeping her in the dark. He would have to work with the explanation he had already given Nathaldor and Jillian, but to sound plausible it would need to be told much more convincingly than what he had given them. He had observed that when other individuals constructed false explanations, the most watertight ones were detailed about certain events, but slightly more vague about others, thus ensuring that the story did not sound too extravagant to be believable.

However, the death knight knew that this would not work for him. There was no margin for human error when it came to his memory, and Dorissa knew this very well. No, he would have to maintain a very precise level of detail throughout the story if he wanted her to believe him. Did he consider himself capable of this? _Yes._

But could he walk by her side in silence for the rest of his days in the knowledge that he had – albeit inadvertently – been the cause of her never knowing the only relative she had had who might still have lived to be part of her life now? And, most importantly, was he selfish enough to do so? The answer to both questions was clearer than he had expected: _yes._ And so it was settled. _Lie._

"Having trouble sleeping, Zaladin?" Nathaldor's voice brought him back to world around him; he had uncharacteristically been too lost in thought to notice the approach of the elf.

"You know that I have not been capable of sleep since I was risen," the death knight said, quickly slipping the silver pendant into his sleeve to keep it from catching Nathaldor's attention.

The elf's quiet laughter reached his ears, a musical note in the night. "So you do not recognise irony unless it comes from your own lips. Interesting."

_Should have. Distracted. Pay attention._ "I would not go as far as labelling it 'interesting'. What I do find curious, however, is why you have come to me when you could be in bed with your wife," Zaladin stated, focusing his eyes on the other male.

"I see that your observational skills do not entirely fail you, my friend," Nathaldor said quietly as he soundlessly moved to sit beside the troll. "I have lingered here too long," he then said after a moment of silence.

"I sensed as much."

"I thought you might have." The elf absently traced the glittering surface of the crystal pendant he used to contain his magic. "Ildoren and I received our orders yesterday, but I have yet to inform Jillian of this."

"And you seek my guidance because you believe that I possess unrivalled experience when it comes to the finer facets of couple counselling?" the death knight asked dryly, gaining another laugh from his conversational partner.

"Ah, if only it were so. No, I turn to you because I know that you will listen with an unbiased ear and pass no judgment on me. Whether or not you choose to advise me is your own matter."

Zaladin nodded once and waited for the elf to continue.

"Since we married, Jillian has been… reluctant to let me return to duty. I imagine that she has grown increasingly worried that I will die on the battlefield."

_Blind imbecile. She bears your child._ "If you follow order and report for duty, there is no way for you to promise her that she will not lose you, Nathaldor."

"I realise that." Nathaldor sighed and leaned back against one of the larger stones surrounding the moonwell behind them. "What would you do in my place?"

"I would leave, as I have always done. As I left for Mount Hyjal."

"And you say this knowing that you yourself just came very close to losing Dorissa?"

"I do. It is an occupational hazard of which we are both aware. She knows that I am bred for the sole purpose of slaughter; she would not deny me the opportunity to fulfil it," Zaladin said. _Bloodletter in life and death alike, _he observed silently.

The elf nodded. "I suppose that settles it. When morrow comes I will tell her of my decision."

"And when do you take your leave?"

"Once Dorissa has returned." 

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>  
>I trust you can sense that this spells all kinds of trouble. So many things could be solved if people simply talked to each other, do you not agree?<br>But, alas, that is seldom how people work, and it is no different in this story.  
>The wait from now on for the next post may be a little while; I have started university again and am quite busy, and I am also working on an original story which takes up a fair amount of my brain capacity.<br>I hope you are all well and enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it!


End file.
